


Invisible Man

by X_Gon_Give_It



Series: Invisible Man [1]
Category: Deadpool (Comics), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF MJ, Breaking and Entering, Clever Peter, Complete, Fear, Gifts, M/M, Mentioned Past Sex, Mentioned Skip Westcott, Mistrust, Paranoia, Spidey is straight up not having a good time, Stalking, Suspense, Threats, Voicemails are therapeutic, Wade has no idea whats going on, Watching someone in their sleep, blackmailing, bubbling trust issues, creepy stalking, mental stress, photographing someone in their sleep, promiscuous pictures, robberies, threats to family members
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27831565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/X_Gon_Give_It/pseuds/X_Gon_Give_It
Summary: Peter Parker is Spider-Man, so his life has always been a dangerous one. But with an unkillable boyfriend and nearly 10 years of experiences under his belt, he was beginning to think that he had this life figured out.Until one day, someone breaks into his apartment.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Wade Wilson/Peter Parker
Series: Invisible Man [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2109036
Comments: 196
Kudos: 290
Collections: Cuteyyuki's Spideypool





	1. The Night It Started

Spider-Man has been robbed.

The irony isn't lost on Peter. In fact, he laughs a little, staring down at his mattress with one hand threaded through his hair and the other tap-tapping at his hip. After all, what kind of ballsy crook had the guts to break into _Spider-Man's_ apartment and steal, arguably, one of his most beloved possessions.

To be fair, they hadn't stolen the entire bed. Not the frame or the mattress, at least. Just the blankets, pillows, and sheets, so 85% of what made it likable. Patrol hadn't taken particularly long today. With temperatures dropping the way they were, no crook worth their two cents would be caught dead breaking into a store so late at night. Stupidly, Peter assumed the same for bed thieves.

Broken into apartments weren't uncommon, but this was the second time in Peter's life that its happened to him. (He didn't like to think about the first time, as he technically hadn't been there and the night Uncle Ben was killed put a distant ache in his chest.)

It was dark when he'd stumbled back into his apartment at 2 AM. Even though the night had been dull - aside from a small warehouse fire - his body was achy from the cold and his toes freezing. He was tired, so he hadn't bothered turning the lights on, and used his spider-sense as his personal brand of echo-location to find the bedroom. Like a man returning to the arms of his lover, he expected to be embraced by the warm blankets and fluffed pillows, only to fall face-first onto a barren mattress.

It took a couple moments of confused patting before he figured out what was wrong here. A quick switch of the light revealed the true horror.

Now, Peter stood at the end of the bed, scratching his forehead and wondering why bad things happened to good people. Had he pissed off an old ancient god by trespassing on a sacred parking lot, and it was now seeking revenge? Did the universe simply enjoy taking the things he loved? They'd taken his weighted blanket too. That had been a gift.

"Stupid bed thieves...taking my stuff...those blankets were cotton...my pillows, gosh the _pillows_..." he bemoaned under his breath as he tracked down the boot he'd hazardously kicked off after climbing through the window. Inside it, he fished out his phone and debated on whether or not he should call the cops as he checked the door. The lock had been shimmied open, because like an idiot, he hadn't checked the other two locks before he went patrolling.

"Wade's never going to let me hear the end of this," Peter sighed, swinging the door chain side to side before sliding it into place, and doing the same to the other two Wade insisted on installing.

" _It's about safety,"_ Wade had said, taking the heavy duty padlock and deadbolt out of the plastic shopping bag and holding them up like he expected Peter to start applauding.

" _I'm Spider-Man and you're Deadpool,"_ Peter had reminded him, unimpressed. " _This is no Stark Tower, but how dangerous do you expect it to be."_

 _"Not for us, Petey,"_ Wade placed a ginger hand on the gun he always kept holstered on his person, " _It's for my babies. What if some looney-bin waltzed in here and kidnapped them? Straight outta the closet like a couple of repressed gay children. If we're going to live together, we've gotta have failsafes. Gotta have a plan of action."_

Plan of action they had, fail it did. Actually, on that thought, Peter strode back to the room to check on said closet as he brought up Wade's number and put the phone to his ear. He checked Wade's weapon stash - surprisingly untouched - and set to examining the rest of the bedroom by the time the ringing stopped and he was left to voicemail.

As expected.

"Hey Wade. So, you're not going to believe what just happened. We've been _robbed_. I know, I know, very exciting. I - uh, okay I swear if you tease me about this I'm buying nothing but taco's from the resturant you hate, for the next month. I forgot to lock the door before I left, so...this one might be on me. Umm, I don't think anything but the blankets and pillows were stolen," Peter checked his laptop and Wade's gaming device to make sure, "Yeah, they didn't even take your new system. Leave it to New York to rob you of your bed instead of the actually valuable stuff. Probably not going to call the police though. Everything's a mess, and I just got home from patrol, and I don't want to explain all the guns in my closet. Maybe we can go bed-shopping when you get back," he paused in the doorway of the bedroom, leaning against the frame and running a tired hand through his hair.

"Um, yeah, that's all really. Helped stop a fire today. It was small, but I'm going to smell like smoke the rest of the week. Hope you're having better luck at your end of the world. Call me when you can. I know how funny you'll find it that Spider-Man was robbed in his own home. I...I miss you. The TV isn't as good of a conversationalist as I remember. I...yeah, so...I love you. Bye."

He ended the message and closed his eyes. Another added to the pile of voicemails he was leaving in his wake. Did he sound as clingy as he felt? Gosh, it was so pathetic. Wade takes one job on the other side of the world, and Peter can't stop calling for more than 5 minutes. And they used to think Wade was the clingy one. If Peter sat at his window and pretended he could see the sunset past the buildings, he could be mistaken for some poor sap waiting for their lover to return from the war.

Peter sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Wade was so far underground, he wouldn't even get these messages until he was topside again. Which was probably for the best. Peter didn't want to distract him, because he _knew_ Wade would answer the phone every time he called.

Still, this job was taking longer than either of them expected. It was supposed to be a month, maybe two, tops. But it's been almost three, and Peter would be worried if he didn't keep nagging SHIELD and receiving exasperated messages claiming that everything is _fine_ and that the mission is _delicate_ , and _if you keep calling, Spider-Man, we're going to do something super shady and bad because we're a super organization and making people disappear is easy for us._

What was worse, only a handful of people knew about his relationship with Wade, so Peter couldn't even bemoan to anyone within earshot. Sometimes, he hated that they'd agreed to keep their relationship on the downlow from the media, and most people for that matter. (If Peter had to hear one more well-meaning 'friend' express their opinion on his dating life, he was going to backflip off the Brooklyn Bridge). Sometime's a guy just needs to bitch and moan about missing his boyfriend.

Groaning, Peter did, as he turned back into the room and actually put forth the effort of stripping out of his Spider-Man suit. He didn't bother with pajamas, just grabbed the extra blanket from the hallway closet, switched off the light, and burritoed himself on the mattress. It wasn't the same high quality blankets they had - mostly for Wade because of his sensitive skin - but Peter felt like a pampered ninny for missing their silky softness.

It was going to be a bitch replacing that weighted blanket.

But these things happened. It's New York. It'd be strange if he _wasn't_ robbed at least once in his life. Chalk it up as a new experience and check it off the list.

"Later," Peter mumbled to himself, squirming to find the most comfortable spot and drifting.

He was almost asleep when his spider-sense hummed and he lifted his head, squinting at the darkness. It wasn't an alarming tingle, or even a moderately high one. Just a tickle over his skull that he could've easily ignored.

But there was nothing there, and as quickly as it had come, it was gone again. Maybe it was bedbugs. He'd always been careful not to let those buggers back into his life, not since the last infested apartment he had. He'd have to check the mattress in the morning to make sure it was clean.

He snorted as he wiggled back into the blanket. Hopefully the stolen blankets had bedbugs. That robber was going to be in for one hell of a surprise.

With that happy thought, Peter was fast asleep in minutes.

* * *

Mary Jane has a riot when she finds out. Where Peter found it ironically funny, MJ declared it the single greatest joke the universe could've played on him. What was funnier than a superhero getting robbed? A vigilante who spent his free time _stopping_ robbers and thugs. It went against the natural order of things. Like a cat chasing a dog up a tree.

Peter blankly sipped at his drink as she bent over the table wheezing, making their silverware jump as she slapped the palm of her hand against the top.

"Oh, that it is too good," she chortled, running a hand over the top of her hair to get the red curls out of her face, "And they stole your _bed_?"

"Everything but the bedframe and mattress," Peter said, which invoked another round of laughter that he waited out by starting on the sandwich left by the waiter. When she finally composed herself again, smoothing down her shirt and sipping at her lemonade to keep her amusement tamed, Peter continued, "Decided not to call the cops. Was still in costume and I didn't want to deal with hiding all my gear. Wade still needs to find a better place to store his 'toys' too, so that would've been hell to explain."

"So, you're just letting them get away with your stuff?" MJ clarified, digging into her own food.

"Blankets can be replaced," Peter shrugged, "At least it wasn't anything important. I've just got to remember to lock the door before I leave."

"Heroism has made you compliant," MJ sagely nodded, and Peter nudged her leg with his shoe. But he couldn't exactly disagree. He's been Spider-Man for a while now - almost 10 years. Petty crime and home robberies didn't seem like something that could happen to _him_. He's busted enough of them to feel like it was the kind of thing he could prevent. What a good job he was doing in thatdepartment.

It was a blow to his superhero pride, but better now when it was just a couple of blankets than, say, the TV, or his laptop, or dare he say his _Spider-Man_ gear. Lesson learned, universe. Superhero or not, he was not above petty crime happening at his own doorstep.

"Mm, so did you tell Wade?" she asked around a large bite of salad.

"Left him a voicemail."

"Still not returning your calls then? It's been a while."

Peter shrugged, pretending he hadn't thought about it, "We both knew this mission was going to take a while, so I really shouldn't be surprised."

MJ's smile was sharp as a sharks and equally accusing as she pointed her fork at him, "You miiisss him."

"Real mature."

"You _liiiiike_ him."

Peter sniffed and turned up his nose, "I don't know what you're talking about and you'll never be able to prove it in court."

She laughed and shook her head, "Seriously though, Peter. I can tell how much you miss him. Your eyebrows scrunch up really sad and you make a puppy-dog face whenever you bring up the job."

His face screwed up and he set down his sandwich, "I do not make a puppy-dog face."

"The cutest puppy-dog face. Big round eyes, sad little lips, if you quiver them a little and point them toward the guy behind the counter, I'm sure you could get a free donut."

Peter scoffed and shoved his sandwich into his mouth to avoid the frankly belittling conversation, but MJ wasn't one to give up to easily. Her expression softened and she dropped a hand on top of his, squeezing gently.

"Hey, it's alright. Honestly, I think it's really great that you found someone like Wade. Aunt May and I were starting to get a little worried there."

Peter shot her an alarmed look, "Worried about _what_? My single status?"

"No, just...how lonely you were. Before Wade, you were distancing yourself and you hardly ever came around anymore, and you weren't returning calls, and you just," she took a small breath, "I just...think it's great that you found someone like Wade. I'm glad you're not so alone anymore. Especially," she dropped her voice, "when you're being your _stickier_ self."

"Please never refer to it as my 'stickier' self ever again."

Her grin was wry, "Nope, patented by Wade and used exclusively among us all. Deal with it."

Peter rolled his eyes, but turned his hands up so he could squeeze her back, "Thanks...I think. I'll admit I _do_ kind of miss having him around. A lot. It's a lot quieter with him gone. I'm not as funny as I used to be without someone to bounce quips off of."

"Oh sweetie," MJ gave him a sad smile, "You were never funny to begin with."

" _Ouch_. Anymore kicks while I'm down? Maybe a blow to my pride? A few knocks at my self-esteem. The floor is yours."

"Nah, that's just another Monday for you. Besides, if we don't hurry and eat I'm going to be late and you're going to have to pay for both our meals when I'm forced to run out of here early."

"MJ I can pay for our meals, I'm not -" he patted his pockets, and slowly stopped. He patted them again more frantically, and dug into his backpack muttering small curses under his breath. "I swear I put my wallet in here. I _swear_."

MJ looked anything but surprised. Once upon a time she may have even been annoyed, but right now she looked only amused. "Don't worry about it. There's always a high chance you'll forget your wallet, so I carry extra cash on me. Just in case. Lunch is on me."

"I _swear_ I'll pay you back."

"Invite me over for dinner once Wade is back and we'll call it even. That guy makes the best garlic bread I've ever tasted. Besides, that way we can both tease you about leaving the door unlocked, and I can get my monthly dose of the Parker soap opera."

"Hey, you like the soap opera."

"Only when I'm not dangling from bridges or hitting villains over the head with a bat."

Peter puffed out his cheeks with an expression that could only be described as conceding agreement, "Fair enough. I'll plan something with him as soon as he gets back."

She winked and dug into her salad. As they ate, Peter fiddled with his napkin, lips pursing,. His eyes were glued to the table and he nudged at his fork meekly as he asked, "I didn't...I didn't really distance myself, did I? I mean, I probably did, but I didn't mean to. I mean, I might've _meant_ to in the beginning, but you guys know that I wouldn't abandon you right?"

MJ looked him over carefully, "Yeah, we know," she said, "You just have an annoying habit of getting caught up in your stickier side," Peter's nose wrinkled, "and you do flake a lot. You also tend to get really caught up in your own head and it's a pain in the ass to get you back out."

"Okay, okay, I get it. Thank you."

"But we know you don't mean any harm by it, Peter. We just wish you would come around more often. Aunt May misses you."

"I'm visiting her tomorrow."

"Good, do that more often."

"I will. I'll try. I promise."

MJ nodded her approval.

The rest of their lunch was filled with work talk and meaningless gossip, until the hour was up and they gave their farewells. They walked down the street together and Peter waited with MJ for her cab, before making his way to the subway to catch a train back to the Daily Bugle. He considered web-swinging there, but being the crisp beginnings of December, the temperature was on a spiraling descent and the winds were getting particularly nippy. Not unlike a little dog biting at your heels.

He'd subject himself to the icy winds tonight during patrol, but for now he huddled onto one of the subway seats, squished between a man and his kid and a middle-aged woman with a briefcase. The warmth made up for the lack of personal space.

Only, 10 minutes went by when his spider-sense tingled and he sat up straighter. Across from him, there was a teenager slumped in their seat, a pair of headphones perched over her head as she mindlessly bopped her foot to whatever tune she was listening to. She glanced over at him and smiled. His spider-sense tingled again. Then she was back to looking down at her phone.

Peter leaned back in his seat, glancing around the car as if anyone else might've picked up strange vibes from their non-existent danger senses. He didn't think they did. There was nothing incriminating about this girl. Nothing that suggested she was dangerous. She didn't even have a backpack, so he could cross bomber off the list. For the rest of the ride, she didn't look at him, and when the train pulled up to the next station, she filed out with the next group of people and was gone before Peter could figure out what set him off.

But, just as the doors closed, through the grimy window, she looked back at him and smiled. Then the train was moving and she was gone.


	2. The Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the support last chapter! 3 Here's chapter 2.

Peter couldn't help but feel unsettled all the way to work.

He was caught in a loop of wondering if he should've followed the teenager to make sure she wasn't up to anything, or if that would be totally creepy and only end with him scaring the daylights out of a young girl. If she did turn out to be some kind of bomber, he wouldn't be able to sleep at night knowing he'd let her off that train.

But, his spider-sense hadn't been _nearly_ strong enough to suggest anything as dangerous as a bomb, and it was fleeting as it was. Sometimes his sixth sense went off when people stared at him. Just a small tingle that let him know when someone was paying a little more attention to him than usual. Normally, it was soft enough to ignore.

Peter shook his head and ran a hand through his hair to comb out the worry. He stepped out of the elevator and into the main office of the Daily Bugle. The smell of paper, ink, and spoiling dreams took the subway stench from his nose and he collapsed at his desk with a perpetual sigh as he booted the computer.

It was almost a shame there were no epic villain battles happening right now. When there were no pictures of Spider-Man to sell to a dying newspaper industry, Jameson had Peter doing an _actual_ job as a website manager. It was his job to fix any bugs in their program software and keeping the Bugle website groomed and maintained. Honestly, the only reason Jameson still accepted his pictures in an age of cellphones and candid photos, was because he still used his expensive camera designed to capture fast-paced action. It took years to fully develop his skill, but he could snap pictures of Spider-Man, or any hero really, without it coming out blurry and worthless. But give it time. Sooner or later he would be swept under the rug by the next swashbuckling kid and their phone with a built-in 135+mm.

As the computer dragged itself back to life, a small package nestled behind the monitor caught Peter's attention. It was small, not even the size of his palm, with a shiny blue bow perched on top. He frowned as he shimmied it out.

This would be the 2nd gift this week, not counting the other 4 he'd received over the past month. Just like its successors, this one had a clean white note taped next to the bow with the words " **To: Peter Parker '' typed in** its center.

Inside was a little toy camera. Not exactly cheap looking, but nothing expensive either. He weighed it in his palm. It looked exactly like the camera currently slung around his neck.

"Another one?" Ben Urich said, leaning over from his desk so Peter could get the full experience of his quirking eyebrows. "What kind of doohickey is it this time?"

Peter lifted the doohickey helplessly, "Yeah, this one's a camera. Not gonna lie though, it's kind of cute. I like it a lot more than the ceramic hotdog I got last time," he chuckled a little, "You know, if this had my name written on the bottom it'd looked exactly like my...oh, it does...well, look at that."

Betty peered above her computer, which happened to be stationed directly in front of Peter's and pursed her lips. Behind the wireframe of her glasses, her eyes narrowed. "You know, I thought it was cute before, but aren't these gifts getting a little...weird?"

Peter shrugged, but couldn't disagree as he slipped the mini-camera back into its box.

"And you still don't know who's leaving them?"

"Nope," he sighed, "And I'm guessing you still haven't caught who it was either."

Betty's eyebrows knit together in a determined scowl that not many people enjoyed being at the receiving end of, "I've been watching your desk _all day._ No one left a gift there, I swear."

"Well, it wasn't there when I left for lunch."

Betty growled under her breath, and Peter didn't need to see her hands to know she had them wrapped around her pen in an iron grip. "Ben, did you see anything?"

Ben shook his head, "I've been watching too. Didn't even notice it was there until Peter grabbed it."

Betty groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Whoever's doing this, is _good_."

"Yeah, maybe a little too good," Ben muttered, leaning back into his chair with an arm against the armrest, "I mean, these gifts all seem kind of...personal. Personal to _you_ , that is, Peter. They even have your name spelled out on the camera."

"To be fair," Robbie interjected as he walked by their desks, "Peter's left his camera around enough times for most of us to know that." At his presence, they all snapped back to their desks, but Robbie Robertson wasn't about to let them off the hook that easy. He pointed the folder in his hand at each of them in turn, "You can discuss office gossip later. Jameson wants that political piece within the next hour, Betty, and he says he wants an update on those robberies, Ben."

"I'm getting it, I'm getting it," Ben crowed, turning to rummage through the papers on his desk.

"Oh, hey, can I get a copy of that too?" Peter asked, "Jameson's been hounding me about getting pictures, but it must've slipped his mind that I can't magically teleport places. I want to get a good grasp of these robberies so that if I need to photoshop something together it'll look believable."

"Jameson will have my head, Parker."

"Thank you, Ben. You're my hero."

"You better not be photoshopping your pictures," Robbie said, giving Peter an extra stern point with his folder, "Besides, the website's main page has been glitching all morning, how about you get on that."

"Sir, yes sir," Peter saluted, swiveling back in his chair, and ignoring Ben's insistence that Peter can get his own damn reports on the robberies. He slipped the gift into his bag and within 10 minutes, forgot about it completely.

* * *

Peter web swung his way home. Screw the subway, he wanted to get home in time to eat the last packet of ramen before going on patrol. Of course, traveling by web was never a bee-line from destination A to destination B, but there were only two muggings he came across and a small detour to help an old man whose bags had ripped and scattered his groceries on the sidewalk. But within 30 minutes he was home.

He throws the ramen in a pot of boiling water as he rummaged around in his bag for the notes he had successfully pestered out of Ben. In his rummaging, he came across the gift and added it to his growing collection on the dresser. Most of them were little knick-knacks and trinkets that anyone could get from a street vendor selling merchandise.

Peter stared at them, chin in his fingers. Not going to lie, he'd been flattered by the first few gifts, but Ben and Betty were right. This was getting weird. All they knew was that it was some " _flabgabbit secret admirer hoodlum"_ \- Jameson's words, not Peter's - and that they've been sneaking these gifts to him out of nowhere. He didn't even know who it was. And yes, the trinkets were cute. And yes, maybe he liked them a little. But whoever was doing this, Peter wanted to see them face to face before he accepted anything else. He'd speculated that they were from Wade, but Wade liked to flaunt his presents. He wanted you to know he got you something, and that he'd been thinking about you. Enjoyed seeing the person's reaction. So Peter found it unlikely that he wouldn't sign a single one of the gifts, or hint that they were from him.

Sighing, Peter tossed the empty box in the garbage and went back for his ramen. With a steaming bowl in hand, he settled on the couch to look over the case notes. He tried not to let his frustration bleed onto his tongue because, frankly, these noodles were too good not to enjoy.

It was a trial he failed because, in no time, Peter was hunched over the coffee table and kneading his forehead with the papers spread around him. These robberies were driving him up the wall - pun absolutely intended. It was bad enough that this person hasn't been caught yet, it was worse that no one was sure the robberies were even connected. There had been no witnesses, no evidence of a break-in, nothing on video-cameras - stuff just ended up missing the next morning. And the big fat cherry on top of Peter's sloppy sundae of frustration was that he didn't even hear about these robberies until _after_ the crime had been committed.

He's gone on patrol, working the streets close to the targeted areas, but he still hasn't heard a peep from a single one. Whoever was doing this, was doing it right under his nose, and it was starting to piss him off. Like the world's biggest ' _HA-HA in your face, loser_ ' joke.

"Come on," Peter murmured, roaming over each report for the third time. But if there was a connection, he wasn't seeing it. Animal sedatives stolen from a zoo, a moving truck hijacked and off the grid, a convenience store robbed of food (not money, just food.). If Peter didn't know any better, he'd say Kraven was out hunting on a budget. His only counterpoint was that Kraven also happened to be locked up in the Raft, and he'd probably eat his own toes before robbing a corner-store for cheap chips and salsa. So, Peter went ahead and crossed that off the list.

Besides, Kraven wasn't exactly subtle. He liked the hunt, and liked it a lot more when his prey knew he was on the prowl. Made it more interesting, or so he's monologued at Peter.

But whatever was going on her, Peter knew they had something in common. Animal tranquilizers, a truck, food - either something was being transported, or something was being _exported_.

He sighed, dropping the notes for the zoo case onto the pile and pinching the bridge of his nose. It wasn't so much as finding the connection than it was finding the person who was committing the thefts. It was becoming an issue of pride. It's been a while since he's come across a string of robberies he couldn't catch after more than a few days. This has been happening for the last few _weeks_ , and it was grating on every last one of his nerves.

Scrubbing his face with his hands, Peter gave the mess a final once-over, rolled his eyes, stood up, and downed the rest of the noodles in one go. He wasn't going to find answers in between sentences, he'd find them on the streets. He tossed the hoodie he was wearing over his suit onto a chair and pulled on his boots. It took a moment to find his mask - it was hiding underneath the kitchen table - but once it was secure on his face, he felt Peter Parker step back and Spider-Man take the reins.

Spider-Man paused outside the window to make sure it was clear of peeping-toms, before sliding out onto the fire-escape and making a speedy dive off the building, propelling himself forward on his webs.

Maybe tonight would be his lucky night and he'd find himself a serial-robber.

* * *

Peter threw his mask against the wall with a frustrated shout.

Nothing. Not a single robbery. He spent the better part of the night _and_ early morning scouring the streets up and down, giving extra special attention to those quiet little shops, and nada.

He stopped plenty of muggings, a few assaults, and even a vendor-thief. But the night was quiet and it ended with him climbing back into his apartment, throwing articles of his suit off his body - not caring where they landed - and collapsing on the barren mattress. Fuck, he forgot he was out a bed too. Why was everything so terrible?

He left Wade a quick message vocalizing his frustration that was more irritable grumbling than actual words, but he felt better after doing it. Enough so, that he was calm enough to catch a few hours asleep. Then again, Peter could be a fuming ball of rage and he would still manage to catch some shut-eye. When it came to the superhero life, sleep wasn't something to be treated lightly.

The morning, however, brought terrible news.

He's long-since given up on waking to birds singing and sunshine-happy days, but even _he_ wasn't expecting the morning report that someone had not only robbed a store, but broke into the Raft.

The fucking _Raft_. Super-max prison for supervillains. Peter was so frustrated and flabbergasted, he turned over in bed and screamed into the mattress.

To rub salt in his own wound, he reread the article several times - just to allow the bitterness to plant and culminate - before dragging himself out of bed. Last night's target, aside from the supervillain prison, was a pharmaceutical store that had been wiped clean of nearly half their drugs. To make matters worse, it had been on a street that Peter swung through _several times._

No one was sure what was taken from the Raft yet, but authorities were looking into it. If it was another villain escape Peter was going to be pissed.

To calm down, he helped himself to a shower, but his magic solution didn't work and he felt more riled up by the time he's towel drying and stomping through the apartment for his things. He leaves another voicemail for Wade, one he _knows_ Wade'll find entertaining because he too enjoyed the Parker soap opera, (and because Peter tripped when pulling on his shoes and the angry string of curses over the phone was right up Wade's humor-alley).

But Peter wasn't about to apologize. The voicemails have become therapeutic, and real therapists weren't included in his health insurance. Besides, he likes to think Wade will appreciate staying in the loop.

 _No, you're just coming off clingy as fuck_ , the annoying voice in his head stated matter-of-factly, and Peter was tempted to flick his own head.

Today's his day off, thank goodness. If he walked into work with the attitude he had, Jameson would zero in on it like a sniffer dog to cocaine, and Peter didn't want to listen to Jameson flip flop between the logic _"If Spider-Man IS a hero, why hasn't he stopped this person yet_?" and " _He's a menace and he's probably in cahoots with the robber by turning a blind eye_."

Peter almost wished that were true. At least, then, he'd be in on the secret.

But no matter how sour his morning started, Peter wasn't going to let it ruin the rest of his day. He was visiting Aunt May today and she worried enough as it was. He didn't want her to think he was overworking himself, and if he was scowling and dragging his feet on the floor, she was going to sit him in a corner until he spilled the beans.

He made certain the doors were locked this time, and even tested the knob to make sure it wouldn't open for anyone who had anything less than super strength. All his boxes were checked off.

Halfway down the hall, his spider-sense tingled and Peter froze. Behind him, the little boy who lived just down the hall was standing outside his door, backpack looped around his arms, and wide brown eyes staring at him. Peter waved awkwardly.

The boy blinked, and smiled. Now, Peter couldn't say that children smiled at him all the time, but as Spider-Man he's gotten his fair share of happy children who grinned and wanted a ride on "Pidah-Man's" back, but the way this little boy's lips arched over his face. Nothing sweet or remotely childish about it. Far too wide and toothy and...hopeful?

His spider-sense tingled again as the boy waved back, and then like nothing happened, he turned back into his apartment and left. Peter watched the door several seconds after it closed.

"What the fuck," he whispered. He thumped the heel of his hand against his head a few times.

Sometimes, he wondered if his spider-sense could break. Just the other day it had gone off when he stopped to help the old woman who lived across from him carry in her groceries. It was never an alarming tingle, just small ones as if it were warning him of germs. But he didn't think germs were the problem here. It wasn't enough to warrant painkillers, but it was frequent enough that he wanted to bang his head on the wall a few times every day.

 _It was just a little boy,_ he scolded his brain. _Stop being weird_.

He took the stairs instead of the elevator, enjoying the opportunity to stretch his sore legs, and was out on the street in no time. Instead of taking a bus or a cab, he walked a few blocks and detoured to the store that had been robbed. Maybe seeing it from ground level would give him a clue of what to look for.

The store wasn't too far from where he lived, but what did surprise him was the small squadron of police cars parked outside and the group of people that had amassed at the store's doors. Peter expected there to be a crowd, as people were curious by nature, but he didn't think so many would turn up. There were enough of them that police officers were shooing some backwards to make room.

Curious, Peter joined the throng, peering over heads to catch a glimpse of the action going on inside. His heart sped up when a man was led out of the store in handcuffs, sandwiched between two officers, and screaming his head off.

"I DIDN'T DO IT," he was hollering, twisting in the grip of the officers, "I DIDN'T DO IT, I SWEAR!"

And just like that, Peter was missing his nifty little Bugle pass that allowed him closer access to scenes like this. But he'd stupidly left it, and his camera, at home, and he was stuck craning his head like all the other rubbernecks wanting to satisfy their curiosity.

"That's the man who's been committing all those robberies," the man in front of him was saying to his partner, "The one who robbed the zoo, and that other store."

"Oh," his partner gave him a wide-eyed look, "haven't the cops been chasing him for a while now, then?"

"Yeah, for a few weeks."

"I thought they said they didn't have any suspects."

"They didn't, but the guy must've slipped up. I overheard that officer over there saying they found security footage of him last night."

"Really?"

"Yeah, guess the guy's luck ran out."

Peter was going to have to ask Urich about this when he went back to the office. No doubt Jameson already had someone on the way to cover this new angle in the story. If Peter brought his camera, he'd snap a few pictures for a little extra cash. Today was just not his day.

But maybe it was turning. If they caught the bastard who's been a thorn in his side for nearly a month now, then he wasn't going to complain. It was weird that _this_ was how they caught him, though. A little bit of security footage the guy forgot to wipe, after being so careful in all his other thefts.

Peter scowled at the back of the man's head as he was pushed inside a car and taken away.

But that was something to chew on later. If he was late to Aunt May's, he wasn't going to hear the end of it. So, shouldering his backpack, he stepped out of the crowd and hailed a taxi.

But of course, his silly spider brain couldn't just let things go, and thoughts of the robberies plagued him despite attempts to keep it on the back burner. He promised Aunt May that he'd only talk work when they were in dire need of a conversation starter - she didn't like talking about his job, or his business as Spider-Man, or the danger it tended to put in his path. A small-time crook finally caught by the authorities probably wouldn't bother her, but Peter didn't like bringing work to Aunt May's house anyway. It was supposed to be a safe haven AWAY from all the villains, and robberies, and vigilantism. His own little oasis to rest, recuperate, and relax.

Besides, he'd marred his childhood home enough with escapades as Spider-Man in his teen years. Aunt May and the house more than earned a break from his "adventures." Hell, they deserved it ever since the _first_ break-in.

Peter frowned, tapping on the window with his finger. Even after all these years, thinking about the break-in that took Uncle Ben still ached. Not so much because he blamed himself, but more because he simply missing Uncle Ben. No feeling could ever compare to going home and seeing ambulances and police cars parked outside his house. The force felt like a battering ram, crashing into his chest and breaking every bone in his lungs.

The cab pulled down a familiar Queen's street, and time seemed to slow. Every inch of him went numb and his stomach dropped so far, it hit the floor of the cab. He hardly registered the world around him until the cab was stopping and he pulled the door open with shaky fingers. The world came crashing back around him as soon as his feet hit the pavement and that battering ram collided with his chest. He couldn't breathe.

Then he was running. Panic fueled his legs and he knew he was putting too much speed into it, speed only reserved for Spider-Man, but he couldn't care.

Because right there, in a sloppy group were flashing red and blue police cars, and they were parked right outside Aunt May's house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, real quick, if you're one of my readers for "Wade Wilson's Guide to Studying Your Spider", I just want you to know that I WILL be going back to that fic, I just want to have THIS fanfic written and posted by the end of the month. So, no worries. That other fic will be continued around January-February.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you think.


	3. Stolen Memories

_Aunt May is dead._

That's the thought racing through Peter's head as he tore down the street. _Aunt May is dead. Aunt May is dead._ Was it a villain? Had someone figured out his secret identity? Was this an act of revenge? Or was it like last time? Just a robber and a gun?

He didn't know which was worse.

He nearly tore the door clean off its hinges as he burst into the house, yelling desperately, "Aunt May? _Aunt May?"_

The house was neat and clean, as it was supposed to be. There were no signs of a struggle. No blood staining the floor, or body bag being carried out. But that doesn't mean everything's okay. It doesn't mean a damn thing because Aunt May could be injured, or unconscious, or _worse_.

"In here, dear," her voice is a balm to the panic. Soothing it with fast-acting relief that he followed to the living room.

Aunt May is sitting in her arm chair with one hand placed gingerly over her chest, as if she'd been spooked. But she's _alive_. Peter thought he might cry out of sheer relief as he skittered to his knees next to her, grabbing her free hand and taking comfort in it's warmth. He barely noticed the two police officers standing nearby as he engulfed her in a hug.

"Are you okay? I - I saw the police cars, I thought-"

"I'm okay," she said, patting him softly on the back. "It's _okay_ , Peter," the softness in her voice speaks a thousand words that she doesn't need to say. She understood his panic. She knew what was going through his head. "Really. I'm not hurt in the slightest, I promise."

Peter let go of her to check himself. Not so much as a hair out of place. That was good. So he turned his attention to the room to scope out signs of hostility. Nothing out of the ordinary there, either. The room was spick and span, the basket of magazines kept by her armchair neatly stacked next to her yarn, the TV accounted for, the doilies on the coffee table not even an inch out of place. Everything was just the way he remembered it from his last visit. He took her hands in his own again.

"What happened?"

"Honestly Peter, calm down," her voice was still gentle and she squeezed his hand, "I'm alright, I promise. I just came home and the door was unlocked. I thought I heard someone inside and called the police. I didn't even go in, I waited at Anna's house."

Just hearing those words caused Peter's shoulders to drop as a heavy weight was lifted. On one hand, it was good that she was unharmed. But on the _other_ hand, he frowned, going over her words. "You heard someone? Was someone here?" He looked between her and the cops, "Did you find anything?"

Aunt May hesitated, for a split second, and unease engraved itself in her expression. He didn't like that look, not one bit. He saw that expression every time there was something she didn't want to tell him. It had to be something she thought would upset him, which was already upsetting because that meant something _happened,_ and if something happened, that meant everything wasn't okay. He could already feel Spider-Man rising to the surface, eager to get his mitts on the scumbag that scared her.

Thankfully, Aunt May doesn't even have to explain. The officers take over for her.

"Uh, actually, some items were taken," the man standing behind the couch said.

Peter's eyes widened, "Did they take your money stash?" he asked Aunt May, but she shook her head, still looking upset.

"No, they...they took...pictures."

Peter blinked, "What?"

"Our pictures," Aunt May repeated nervously, clasping her hands in her lap, "Some of the ones hanging on the wall and all the ones on the fireplace," she pointed to said fireplace, and she was right. In his haste, he'd overlooked the empty spots on the mantel. Where normally there would be a display of memories set out in cheap frames, it was now empty save for small imprints in the dust to show that something had been there at all. Same as the walls. He could see bleached spaces on the wallpaper, stained from picture frames that hadn't been moved in years.

"They...stole our pictures?"

Aunt May wrung her hands together, looking more unsettled now that the words were out in the open. "Yes, they did."

Peter looked at the cops, "Did you find anything? Did you see who it was?"

The cop nearest to him crossed her arms, "No, the house was empty when we got here. The backdoor was ajar, so we suspect they left that way. We combed the house, but so far, it seems the only belongings taken were the photos. We can't be sure with every room though. Nothing looked disturbed, according to Ms. Parker," she nodded respectfully toward Aunt May.

"We could do another sweep of the house though," her partner piped up, and gestured to Peter, "With a fresh pair of eyes, we can make sure nothing was missed."

The woman shot her partner a sharp glance as Peter rose to his feet, "I'd be glad to help. I grew up in this house, so I know it pretty well."

"I'm sorry, but civilians shouldn't be involved," the woman said, holding a hand out to stop the conversation in its tracks, "If there _is_ anything else, we can't tamper with potential evidence."

"I won't touch anything, I promise," Peter said, "And I'll stay with you two in each room. I'll just look." He held up his hands to say ' _See? No touchy. Just looky.'_ She stared at him hard and glanced back at her partner, who looked sheepish for suggesting it in the first place and was rubbing the back of his neck. She sighed.

"Fine, we'll do another sweep of the house. No touching anything. I already have a few more officers en route who can dust for fingerprints, but we could use a list of stolen items."

They started on the first floor, scouring every inch of the place and touching nothing. As deduced, the only things taken were the pictures. Then they headed upstairs, searching the rest of the rooms and closets, taking extra precautions not to disturb or move anything.

It seemed as though nothing else was stolen. That is, until they made it to Peter's old room. It was still cluttered with junk he didn't take with him when he moved out and looked as though he never left. The bed was still covered with old Star Wars sheets and the posters on the walls were of famous scientists and astronomers. The desk was overflowing with books, and the broken microscope on his dresser had collected a fine layer of dust.

To be frank, Peter wanted to skip his room. He didn't like the idea of someone - even these officers - rifling through his old things. Aunt May claimed she wanted to turn it into a guest room, but she hadn't gotten around to it. Well, she probably couldn't until she cornered Peter into helping her sort through the mess.

But as he made to shoo them out, his eyes landed on the dresser and his heart plummeted.

"Wait...," he said, and carefully checked around the dresser to make sure it hadn't fallen. The imprint in the dust was there, hardly disturbed, but it was gone, "There was another picture here. One of me, my aunt, and my uncle. It's not here."

"Another photo," the woman repeated, lips tightening into a thin line. "What kind of sicko steals someone's photos?"

Peter shrugged, but his stomach rolled in agreement. Money, the TV, jewelry, he understood all that. Those were valuable. Those could be sold. But pictures?

His eyes sifted along the ground, looking for clues. They found the closet and with the toe of his shoe, he nudged it open. "I think they took my jacket too," he added after surveying the inventory inside, "And some of my shirts?... I think. It's been a while since I've opened this, but I'm pretty sure it's emptier than before."

He didn't like this. Robberies happened to other people. Not to him. Not to _Aunt May_. It was unsettling, the idea that someone had been in this house, his childhood home, and stolen from it. A stranger who had no place in the house that protected him, saw him throughout his childhood, and kept his closest family safe.

Peter was wrong in thinking they hadn't taken anything valuable. They'd taken the most valuable things in the house. Pictures couldn't be replaced. They were memories frozen in time, framed and set out to be remembered. If it were money, or the fancy silverware they used for holiday parties, he wouldn't be so upset. But it wasn't. He felt violated. Vulnerable. And he hated it.

MJ was right, heroism had made him compliant. He'd gone arrogant, thinking things like this couldn't happen to him.

Peter almost sat on the bed, before remembering his promise, and stood stiffly with his arms crossed instead. His eyes kept going back to the dresser, staring at the empty spot. That picture frame had sat there for years and seeing it empty put an ache in his chest.

The picture had been very dear to him. Something he'd kept close all throughout High School. The picture he stared at on those rough nights when he was ready to throw in the towel and give up being Spider-Man.

He remembered the day it was taken so clearly.

It was the day of the 2nd grade science fair. Even as a wide-eyed 6 year old, Peter was an egghead, so of course his experiment won. The picture was of him in his too-round glasses, smiling with his two front teeth missing, with Aunt May and Uncle Ben standing on either side, next to the potato battery that won him 1st place. But the ribbon in his hand wasn't what made that day so special.

It also happened to be around the time his parents died, and things hadn't been the best for young Peter. He'd won the fair, but Uncle Ben knew he wasn't feeling great. As they were leaving, Peter clutching the ribbon in his little fist with his eyes on his feet, Uncle Ben stopped them and asked what was wrong. He put down the box holding Peter's project, and there on the steps, with his new-found guardian's, Peter burst into tears. The reality that his parents weren't coming home finally settled, and for the first time since hearing the news, he cried.

Aunt May and Uncle Ben had been there. They held him, soothed him, let him cry into their shoulders as they promised to keep him safe.

Permanently moving into their house hadn't been easy, but Peter could still recall the love he'd felt in their arms. He believed every promise they said, and they'd held to each one.

That picture kept him going. Held his love for his Aunt and Uncle in its 8"x10" plastic frame. Inspired him to keep getting up and become a pillar of safety for anyone else who needed it, just as he once did.

And now it's gone. His anchor, in the hands of some grubby thief with family issues.

The male officer must've sensed his mood as he inched closer, expression gentle, "Don't worry, we'll find who did this."

Peter tried for a smile, but it was hard, "Thanks," his eyes went back to the dresser, and the officer's followed.

"It meant a lot to you, huh?"

"Yeah," Peter stared down at his crossed arms, "That picture, it...it helped me get through a lot...so it's...it's hard to see it gone."

But with this ache there was something else. Anger. Whoever did this wasn't going to answer to him, they were going to answer _Spider-Man_. This creep wasn't going to break into _his_ childhood home, his Aunt May's house, and take the memories made within its walls. Not if he had anything to say about it.

He had no clue who it was or where to start looking, but he'd find them.

His scheming was interrupted by the officer as he put a comforting hand on Peter's shoulder, "You'll get it back," he said, and it surprised Peter how confident he sounded, "If it means that much to you, you'll get it back."

Peter smiled and nodded. He thought that was all, but the man's hand lingered on his shoulder. Peter waited for him to add on, but when he didn't, he awkwardly shrugged it off.

"Uh...thanks," he said, trying to go for a genuine smile. The man smiled back, squeezed his shoulder once, and left to talk with his partner. Peter went downstairs to console Aunt May, and the heat of the officer's hand followed him every step of the way.

* * *

The walk home was tedious. Peter felt too high-strung. It's been hours since he arrived at Aunt May's house, and he felt so whittled down he could almost feel pieces of himself leaving a trail of breadcrumbs in his wake.

After checking the house, he'd gone with Aunt May to the precinct to file a report and help answer any questions the officers might've had. Once they got back home, he waited with her until she hung up with the insurance company, and settled down in bed to rest from the day's excitement. He didn't want to leave her, but Aunt May insisted he go home.

"I'll be alright," she assured him with a smile, "I may be old, but I've still got some fire in me."

Peter agreed, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to worry. Worrying was in his blood. He worried about her, worried about the city, worried about the family of pigeons nested on the roof of his apartment complex. And yes, he was worried about the scumbag that had robbed her. So, to placate him more than anything, she called Anna Watson over to stay the night.

It wasn't much, but Peter took it. But that didn't stop him from stewing in worry and anger.

Judging by what little evidence was left behind, Peter doubted the police could actually do anything. There was nothing to go on. No fingerprints, no witnesses, and no clues pointing them in any direction. In and out - was it a pro hit? As Spider-Man, he's come across his fair share of professional thieves - Black Cat and the Prowler, to name a few - so he knew they existed. What didn't make sense was why someone of that caliber would rob an 80-year-old woman who lived alone.

He didn't know the answer and that made him anxious. That anxiety followed him like an invisible man breathing down his neck, and Peter had to resist the urge to look over his shoulder. It's been years since someone who wasn't a supervillain made him feel like this. So small and useless. What a terrible feeling.

Peter scowled at the cracks in the sidewalk. There was something else bothering him too.

What were the odds that both he and Aunt May would be robbed? Especially if it was days apart from one another. It didn't help that both of their stolen items were random, seemingly invaluable objects. His bed, the photos from Aunt May's house, those weren't your common targets.

Was it all just a coincidence? Or was it something else?

 _Stop it,_ he snapped. _You're being ridiculous. You're overthinking it._

People were robbed all the time. It was unfortunate and you couldn't always find who did it, and that was life. This wasn't something he needed to blow out of proportion. As long as Aunt May was unharmed, then nothing else mattered. She was the most important thing here.

Still, it left him with a cold chill that wasn't a product of the weather. Disquietude spread over his skin like a too-tight shirt, making him feel stiff and inflexible. He kept looking over his shoulder, expecting someone to be there. But like everyone else on the street, no one was paying attention to him or anyone else. He was as alone as someone could get in New York City.

Still, he was happy to make it home. Paranoia was a parrot on his shoulder, squawking _Check the house. Check the house. Check the house_ , which he did. The apartment was the same as he'd left it. There weren't a lot of pictures on the walls, but the ones he did have were untouched, thank goodness. His apartment hadn't been robbed in his absence, again.

The relief was a welcome one, and Peter sighed, staring at the picture frame by the nightstand. It was of him and Wade at Coney Island, their first official date outside of their costumes. Peter won him a large fluffy panda from the ring-toss booth, and Wade won him a tasteful pink teddy bear from one of the many water-gun games. There had been a woman offering tourists overpriced pictures of themselves and managed to leeway him and Wade. Even though Peter could've easily taken the picture himself, free of charge, Wade happily paid the $30 and swung his arms around Peter. He was wearing a hoodie, even though the weather had been hot, and a pair of large sunglasses that covered a good portion of his face, but his smile was wide and genuine. Surprisingly, Peter loved it, and for their 1 year anniversary, he had it framed as a gift to Wade.

Wade, being the romantic sap he was, cried and hugged Peter, and kept it on his side of the bed at all times.

Peter's heart swelled at the memory.

It had taken longer than he thought to check Aunt May's house and file that report, and the afternoon chill was creeping into evening cold. If he put some time in as Spider-Man tonight, he could get home early. It was getting colder the more they journeyed into December, which meant crime was a fast dropping statistic. One of the few things Peter could look forward to in the winter season. As much as he loved wearing beanies and gilet coats over his costume, they really didn't do much to combat the cold from so high up.

Tonight's temperature was supposed to be dropping the lowest it's been all week, so if the streets were quiet it would probably carry into the night. Bad guys or not, no one wanted to be out in the cold.

Satisfied with his plan, Peter stripped off his clothes to the suit underneath. Being so close to cops with his Spider-Man costume just a shirt-tug away had been nerve-racking. His relationship with the NYPD had definitely improved since he first put on the vigilante tights, and quite a lot of them liked having him around now. He thinks. He _hopes_. But there's too much history between them to be comfortable, even after all these years. Too many bullet wounds and taser burns.

Peter scarfed down a small bag of Cheetos as a pre-dinner snack, tugged his mask on, and found the Venom beanie Wade dared him to buy once - why did his villains get better merchandise than him? Most of the Spider-Man beanies looked like sad reprints of Deadpool.

He eyed the Doctor Octopus ankle socks (Wade's idea of a good joke) but decided against it. There were entire blogs dedicated to superheroes and their costumes, and there was a lovely niche that loved analyzing and teasing Spider-Man for the clothes he wore over his suit. He was already wearing a _Venom_ beanie, it wasn't cold enough to lose his dignity to Doctor Octopus too. So the ankle socks would stay. But he did grab the gilet coat.

Armed to combat the cold and with fists itching to punch some bad guys, he returned to the city as Spider-Man.

* * *

As suspected, crime was low. Nothing serious happened, not even an assault. Which meant he could retire earlier. Peter shouldn't be as giddy as he was to stumble back into his apartment at 12:00 in the morning instead of 3:00.

His nose and the tips of his fingers were numb, so he cupped them over his mouth and breathed warm air, trying to coax life back into them as he stumbled through the window. He tossed the mask and gloves off, followed quickly by the boots, and snatched the blanket off the bed. His hands tingled as feeling returned, and in a spur of genius intellect that got him his college degree, he decided ramen sounded especially yum-yum, and would be even more yum-yum in his tum-tum. Not much of a dinner, but as long as it sated the growling beast in his stomach, he didn't care. Aunt May would be smacking him over the head with a rolled-up newspaper if she saw him eating like this, but his eating habits would be a secret he took to the grave.

The noodles were gone as quickly as they were cooked, but Peter was feeling reckless tonight and considered cooking a _second_ one. He juggled the thought in his head, weighing the pros of eating versus a pantry that needed restocking. Oh, how he missed Wade and his home-cooked meals and having a fridge that actually housed food and not just a single bottle of hot sauce.

In the end, exhaustion won the battle. He was already in bed and he was _not_ getting back would be the one smacking him with a rolled-up newspaper if he knew Peter wasn't eating to his full potential ("Your gonna be skin and bones, Petey. A spandex sack of skin and bones and sadness. Is that what you want?), but that was another thing Peter would keep to himself.

As he tucked himself in, his heart broke for the warmth of the downey sheets and silky blankets he used to have and half-heartedly cursed the bed thief again. Couldn't they have just taken his shoes? Or his old iPod. Did it have to be the bed? Yeah, the current blanket was _fine_ , but it didn't hold a candle to the old ones.

"I really am spoiled," he snorted, closing his eyes.

It was ridiculous how quickly he could fall asleep, and it was something Wade liked teasing him about. There were too many nights of Peter falling asleep during movie marathons, or nodding off in the middle of a conversation, to not warrant it. But Peter couldn't help it. Once he stopped moving for more than 10 minutes, his body took that as its cue to shut down. The spider bite didn't just rewrite his blood apparently, it biologically reprogrammed his brain with a sleep timer. Although, that might've been a result of his crime-fighting activities and lack of a sleep schedule, than anything else.

That being said, it wasn't an easy feat to wake him up. According to Wade, he could sleep through an alien invasion if it suited him. The only thing that penetrated REM sleep was his alarm clock, which was hell in as of itself. Years of waking up for school to a buzzing ring couldn't be fixed, he supposed.

Peter didn't know how long he'd been asleep, but it wasn't his alarm clock that woke him. It was a creak from his window and a sudden flash. He blinked, groaning into the mattress, as another white burst of light appeared inside the room. That was what fully woke him and within seconds, he was bolting upright. His eyes were still adjusting to the dark, and this time when the flash came, he was looking directly at it.

"AH!" he cried, rubbing his eyes, "What the hell?"

 _CLANG!_ The sound of feet on metal. Peter rapidly blinked the spots out of his eyes and barely made out the dark shape outside his window. He was bolting to his feet in the next second, eyesight be damned. The window was unlocked and half opened when he stopped in front of it. Outside, the night air was frigid and his breaths came out in hard white puffs. Down below, someone was scaling the fire escape, dark clothes mingling easily with the shadows.

"Hey!" Peter shouted, and climbed after them.

They were nimble, moving through the bars and ladders with a practiced ease that was almost impressive. It didn't help that they had a head start, so even with his spider agility in play, by the time Peter was landing on the concrete, the person was already racing between the alley of the two buildings. Peter followed but wasn't fast enough. They turned the corner and disappeared into the crowds beyond. Peter turned the alley corner too, but the slap of his bare feet came to a slow stop.

The crowds were thin this late at night, and undisturbed. There was no fleeing figure and no signs that someone had come through here. No one looked as though they'd seen a sprinting person come out of the alley, other than Peter himself.

"What the hell," he said, taking a step back and looking the street up and down. He stayed put for a few minutes out of confusion, helplessly shuddering in the cold, before slowly turning away with a final uneasy glance. His feet were freezing, and his body shivered bitterly in response to the drop in temperature. He walked a few feet back toward the fire escape when his eyes landed on something sitting on the closed lid of a dumpster. Peter froze, blood running cold.

"No way," he approached it slowly, heart racing faster with each step. He slowly picked up the picture frame, where it was perched innocently on the dumpster, as if it had every right to be there.

It was a picture of him, Uncle Ben, and Aunt May, and they were standing in front of a potato battery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun Dun DUN!


	4. Chilling Realizations

Peter hugged the picture close to his chest and looked back toward the street. Quite suddenly, the cold didn't bother him. His heart pumped and his limbs buzzed with a sudden need to get far, far away.

This wasn't right.

This was all wrong.

He had the picture back, but who left it for him? How had they known?

His thoughts jumped back to Aunt May's house. It was him and the two officers in the room when he mentioned how much this picture meant to him. But had they truly been alone? Could someone else have been there the whole time?

Or, his eyes widened. Had it been one of the officers?

 _"You'll get it back,"_ the male officer had said, so assuredly, _"If it means that much to you,"_ Peter thought he was just being polite. The officer consoling the concerned citizen. But was it something else? Peter didn't even know the man, didn't even remember his name, why would he be lurking outside his window?

Peter's stomach dropped at the reminder and he looked up at his apartment. They were watching him in his sleep. Something had been flashing. A quick succession of light that was familiar, somehow.

He climbed the fire escape back to his apartment and crouched in front of the window in the exact position the peeping tom had been. From here he had a perfect view of the bed. A perfect angle to watch himself sleep. His eyes flickered to the nightstand where his camera lay on its side.

He might throw up.

They were taking pictures of him. That's why the flashes of light were so familiar. It was the flash of a camera.

Someone was watching him at night and taking pictures of him in his sleep.

Someone robbed him and took his bed. Aunt May was robbed and they took her photos. Now that Peter was thinking about it, all the photos that were stolen had _him_ in them.

Rattled, Peter locked the window behind him, something he _never_ did. He and Wade went in and out of this window so often, it seemed ridiculous to lock it. Now, Peter didn't even feel better with the latch tightly clasped. He drew the curtains over it as well, taking care to make sure there were no cracks to peek through, and turned on the light.

His mind was still racing, blood pumping in such a rush he could hear it in his ears. This couldn't actually be happening right? There was no way. A small part of his brain was trying to rationalize its way out of it. This couldn't be what he thought it was. It had to be something else. Maybe he was mistaken.

But his gut told him this wasn't a mistake. And his gut was usually right.

He scrambled for his phone at the nightstand and punched in a number from muscle memory. He didn't even realize it was Wade's number until he heard Wade's obnoxious voicemail, " _You name em' I maim em, press 1 for your friendly neighborhood Deadpool. Press 2 for your resident ass-hat Wade Wilson. And Press 3 if you wanna press my buttons, and you may only press my buttons if you're my boo. I'm probably dying in a ditch right now, so call back later ya nasty."_

"Hey, Wade," Peter said after the beep, and the sound of his own rattled breathing over the server startled him. "Um, so...I think someone's been watching me. I...I just saw someone outside the window. They got away before I could see who, but...but I think they were taking pictures? I don't know, um...I guess I'm kind of freaked out," he laughed shakily, "Yeah, um...I know, it's kind of funny, right. Me, _Spider-Man_ , freaked out over something like this. But, uh...do - do you know when you're getting back?"

Why was he doing this? This was ridiculous. He was Spider-Man, for crying out loud, he didn't go crying for help just because he was a little spooked. He's fought people worse than one stalker. Hell, he's _beaten up_ stalkers before. This wasn't any different just because HE was the one being watched. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror next to the closet, at his pale face and wide eyes. Suddenly feeling like an idiot, he laughed again, awkwardly, "I'm...I'm sorry, I don't know why I called. It's ridiculous. I can take care of this easy-peasy lemon squeezy. I think it just rattled me a little, you know? Don't worry. Call me when you can. I'll update you when I catch this perv. Haha, okay. Bye. Love you."

He closed the phone and pinched the bridge of his nose.

He shouldn't feel as unnerved as he did. He's fought the likes of Venom, and Goblin, and even a literal demon from time to time - so why did this make his hands shake? Why did his stomach feel like it was rolling over itself? This was nothing compared to the fights he's had.

He was being ridiculous.

The phone was a small weight in his hand. He debated calling the police. That would be the first step to catching this loser, and it's what any sane person would do. He could pose as the civilian and give them a report, and actually get someone on this case.

Feeling more awake than he had all night, he paced the floor, fingers hovering over the buttons. He wasn't used to calling the police, not unless it involved someone _else_ or because someone expected him to call them and he couldn't avoid it without looking suspicious. Calling the police wasn't a necessity for him, he could handle almost anything that stumbled into his life. Anything that he could punch at least.

His pacing brought him around the room, and in front of the closet. That's where all his Spider-Man gear was. All his extra suits and the supplies he needed for his web-shooters in a box on the top shelf. All of Wade's Deadpool gear was in there too, and it was a _lot_ more than what Peter had. Guns, and clips, and knives, and weapons, and spare suits, and so, so many things that would get Peter arrested on the _spot_ if it was found in his apartment - unlicensed and unregistered. They'd probably assume he was a terrorist or something.

He would need to find somewhere else to store them, but where? He didn't have the money to rent out a storage space, and Aunt May would loathe to have them in her house (although if she had a gun in her possession, it might help Peter sleep better at night). MJ might be willing to keep a hold of them, but there was the matter of transporting them, and making sure they were hidden in her apartment, and by then it might be too late to call the police.

Peter shook his head. No, it was too much of a hassle, especially for something he could handle on his own. If it got worse, he could call them. Even better, if the Avengers made it back from their mission in Wakanda, he could drop by and give Tony Stark a ring. They've met several times over their superhero career's and Tony might consider it fun tracking down a stalker with his expensive over-the-top magnifying glass.

Running a hand through his hair, Peter exhaled slowly and allowed his muscles to unwind. He was just startled, that's all. He didn't expect to wake up to _that_ , but now that he was level-headed and calm, he wasn't as panicked. He'd just need to take extra precautions. Make sure the doors and windows were locked at all times, keep an eye out for anyone shady lurking in the building, be careful going out as Spider-Man -

His eyes widened. Oh _fuck,_ what if they saw him go out as Spider-Man? Was that the reason he was being watched? A quick sweep of the room told him that none of his gear was in sight, but then again, just the other day hadn't he been tossing his costume around like an excited drunk?

"No," he told himself, knitting both of his hands behind his neck and pushing his head down to battle the swoop of anxiety, "Don't think about that now. Don't think about it. Don't think about it." Another succession of deep breaths calmed him. He could think about this in the morning. The stalker was gone, and he had work, and he'd think about this _in the morning_.

He kept the phone clutched tightly to his chest as he bundled the blankets around himself. The curtains were firmly shut and his bedroom door locked, but he didn't feel like turning off the light, so he kept it on and hid his face between the blankets and the mattress to block it out.

But as much as he tried, as much as he twisted and turned trying to get comfortable, he didn't get much sleep that night.


	5. Paranoia

Peter could say he was a paranoid person.

Even before the mask and the roster wheel of villains, Aunt May used to say he was a skeptical little boy. Always asked questions, always had an eye on people he didn't like, and got concerningly attached to those he did. The day his parents died, was the day he lost a little bit of trust in the world around him. After meeting Skip, that trust was torn into so many pieces it took years to put it back together.

It didn't help when it came time to don his Spider-Man mask. His life became a rollercoaster of paranoia and second-glances, accompanied nicely by a danger sense that gave him more anxiety than what he started with. He got used to looking over his shoulder and examining everyone through a critical lens. Once he started dating Deadpool, some would expect that paranoia to grow.

But it didn't. It lessened, in fact.

Yeah, Peter was surprised too.

Yes, being around Wade brought a lot of new danger, but it brought something new to the table too. For both of them.

People (and by people, he meant the Avengers and SHIELD mostly) assumed that Wade would be more "controlled" in his relationship with Spider-Man. Which first, fuck that. Peter wasn't his handler and Wade was his own person. And while yes, he was a lot more careful with his weapons and targets, he was still himself.

But it changed how people viewed him. They regarded him less as a dangerous, insane mad-man, and more like the superhero/vigilante he was trying to become. He's gotten along with the police more, and his team-ups with other heroes didn't end with him face-down in a gutter with his intestines trailing after him anymore. Well, not as much, at least.

Spider-Man, on the other hand, had slipped down the other end of the spectrum. Peter wasn't being regarded as a fear-mongering lunatic out for blood, but criminals and villains have gotten a lot more antsy around him. The younger, softer Spider-Man he'd been when he was 15 might've been appalled at the idea of being genuinely feared, but 10 years later and Peter didn't feel so bad when it was rapists and murderers who cowered away from his shadow.

The time that marked his change in the eyes of the criminal underworld could be traced back to his associations with Deadpool. Maybe it was because Deadpool wasn't as forgiving as Spider-Man, and with him tagging along it wasn't as much of a risk they were willing to take. Or maybe it was because Spider-Man had gotten rougher, a little more aggressive, on his patrols. Caused a few more broken arms and bruised jaws than what he was known for.

Either way, it earned him a weary reputation among the criminal underworld and not many of them wanted to pick a fight anymore. Even when he wasn't accompanied by Deadpool, they started giving up. Just like that. Not even a crowbar to his face, or attempt to run away. They simply dropped their weapons and surrendered.

And honestly, it was nice. Sure it took some of the fun out of beating up bad guys, but it really picked up his patrols and gave him more time to spend on work, and finishing up his degree, and spending time with family. Besides, he wasn't going to complain about Spider-Man becoming a crime deterrent. It was the greatest thing he could hope to achieve _as_ Spider-Man.

But it was Peter's compliance with this new way of things that became his downfall. He's become too relaxed. Too mitigated with his paranoia. He's stopped looking over his shoulder and started relying on his and Wade's new reputations.

Maybe this is why he didn't see it coming. Why the sudden disclosure of this stalker shook him so badly. He's grown complacent and comfortable in his little box, and now that someone had come up and stabbed a hole into it, he was left ineligible. Vulnerable and unprepared.

 _But that's not going to be a problem anymore_ , he told himself. Because his paranoia was back and more skeptical than ever, knocking him into old habits that had long since kicked the dust.

He didn't swing to work today, too worried that someone would be watching.

He walked instead, keeping his head down and his ears open. His work clothes - slacks and a button-up shirt - didn't feel nearly as incognito as he liked and he regretted not grabbing one of Wade's hoodies on his way out. They were big and comfortable, and it might be cliche, but he would feel a lot more inconspicuous wearing it.

But he made do by hunching his shoulders, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and walking quickly. Not fast enough to make him look suspicious, but quicker than your leisure walk. He just wanted to get to the Daily Bugle and back home as quickly as possible.

Now that his skeptics were back over his eyes, it felt like no matter where he turned, someone was looking at him. The barest tingle over his skull (the same one he's been feeling for days but hasn't addressed) that makes him fight to urge to keep looking over his shoulder. He isn't brushing it off anymore and now he's beginning to notice things.

It started small. A smile from someone on the street. A wave from someone who caught his eye. And then it got bigger. The sense that someone was walking a little too close beside him. A presence at his back. A sudden ' _good morning'_ directed towards him. Eye contact from people he didn't know. Sometimes they nodded their head in greeting, and sometimes they just smiled.

And what bothered him was that these were all innocent gestures. There was nothing weird, or particularly alarming about them. Not at first glance. But this was New York, you can get the occasional greeting here, or make eye contact there, but overall everyone minded their own business. The street performers and tourists were a different matter, but Peter can tell who's a local and who's visiting.

And this doesn't feel right.

It doesn't get any better on the subway. Being packed in with so many people might've made him feel a little better, like he wasn't so alone anymore. There would be witnesses if anyone tried anything, right? Even his spider-sense was quiet. His brain repeated these reasons back to himself, but the close pack of bodies and their overlapping presence made his skin crawl.

He didn't like being cooped up in here. There were so many people and any one of them could be the stalker. Peter didn't know and he had no way of finding out. They could be right behind him for all he knew, and that thought alone had him getting off at the next stop and walking the rest of the way to work, even if it made him late.

It was a relief to finally make in the Daily Bugle. He left the elevator behind, still side-eyeing those he'd been riding with, and like any other blessed day he was ignored. What a relief. No lingering gazes and random pleasantries.

Fuck, he sounded crazy. Getting worked up over a simple ' _good morning.'_

"Get it together _,"_ he whispered harshly as he sank into his chair and rubbed his forehead. _The world isn't out to get you_.

"Hey, Peter!"

So startled, Peter jumped, knees bumping up into his desk and disturbing the small pile of paperclips he was turning into a fort in the corner. Ben Urich gave him a long side-eye.

"Too much coffee this morning, huh? Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

"No," Peter eased himself back into his chair and smoothed down his shirt. He hoped his smile didn't look as plastered as it felt, "No, you didn't. Sorry, I was just spacing out. What's up?"

Ben was still eyeing him, quite possibly not believing the bullshit coming out of his mouth, but he didn't comment on it."Uh, yeah...I was just wondering if you've seen my folder anywhere? The one with all my notes about those robberies? I had it but," he looked around in a feebly attempted search, "I can't find it. I know you were asking for copies, so have you seen it?"

Peter shook his head, "No, I haven't. Have you looked in your desk? They have these nifty little things called 'drawers.' You can put things inside for safekeeping."

Ben gave him a wry look and Peter thought he might knock him over the head for his sarcasm, "I know what a drawer is. And no, it's not there. I would've remembered putting it in. But I just..." his expression became something hopeless, "I don't know, it's just gone. Jameson is going to _kill_ me if I lost all that information."

"Didn't you copy it all onto digital?"

Ben averted his eyes sheepishly, "I...didn't get around to that, alright. And you all know I work better when I'm looking through a story with my hands and not over a screen. I didn't get a chance to upload it to the computer."

Peter winced, "Oh, yeah, Jameson _is_ going to kill you. What type of flowers do you prefer? I want to bring something nice to your funeral."

The baleful look he got was almost amusing. "Not in the mood."

Peter held up his hands as a promise to stop teasing him. "But hey, if you want, I can lend you back the notes you already let me borrow. After I digitize them, of course," he added with a wry grin of his own.

But the grin fell when Ben went board stiff, "Wait...so you," his eyes narrowed, "so you _did_ take them? Peter, what the hell?"

Peter recoiled in his seat, "Uhhh...what? No, I didn't take them. You let me borrow a few of your notes just before I left the office the other day."

Ben shook his head, quick and hard, and his lips pressed into a thin line. Peter was quickly falling under the impression that something was very wrong. "No, I didn't. You asked if you could look over my notes and I said _no_ because I'm still working the story."

Peter sat up straighter, as rigid as a rod. " _No_ , Ben I saw you just before I left work. You said I could use your notes as long as I brought them back today." Ben still looked confused so Peter reached into his bag and pulled out the folder, holding them out for him to see. "See, you gave these to me just before I left."

It was the way Ben took the folder that made Peter's stomach clench. Snatching it back like he was a child and Peter had stolen a favorite toy. He thumbed through the papers quickly, and instead of the dawning remembrance Peter was hoping for, Ben's eyes went hard and his teeth bared.

"You did take them," he growled, pulling the folder out of arm's reach as if Peter might try to snatch them from his hand, "Do you have any idea how freaked out I was? I thought I was going to be _fired_."

Peter's own frustration was creeping up on him. He kept his feet planted firmly on the ground, but he was _this_ close to bolting to his feet. He said through slow, cautious teeth, "I did not _take_ them, Ben. You let me _borrow_ them. Right before I left work, you caught me by the elevator and gave me the folder."

Ben pointed a finger at him, crinkling the papers in the process, "You know, I never really thought you were the lying type, Peter. Not like this. And if you think I'm going to believe some crappy story like that, then why don't you tell Jameson about it. I'm not getting in trouble over your sticky fingers."

This time Peter did get to his feet, "Ben, I'm telling you, I didn't take them. How many times do I have to say it?"

But Ben wasn't listening. He looked livid. He was the sort to get his pants in a knot if people touched the stories he worked on. He didn't like interference or prodding hands, and Peter understood that. It made sense for him to get upset over someone stealing the building blocks to his piece on the robberies. If Peter was the one who stole them, that is. Which he _didn't_. But it was clear Ben didn't think so, and it was all the more clear when he stepped towards Jameson's office with fire in his eyes. Really, the workplace could be nothing more than a classroom full of angry children than a professional environment of adults.

"Tell that to Jonah," he snapped, and Peter was immediately at his heels.

If Jameson looked grumpy already, he was positively seething when two grown men burst into his office arguing over each other. Yes, it was childish. The notion wasn't lost on Peter, but quite frankly, he felt like a child. A grumpy, annoyed, child who was being framed for something he didn't do.

With his years of practice in yelling and arguing, Jameson's voice overpowered theirs easily, "What the hell are you two ninnies yabbering on about?" he didn't bother taking the cigar from his lips, and it bobbed over each word, "You think you can come waltzing in here like you own the place. I didn't realize I was running a damn daycare. What do you two bozo's want?"

They both started talking again, words fumbling over the others, and Jameson sliced a hand through the air to physically cut them off, "Nevermind. Shut your yaps, I can feel an aneurysm coming on. Parker, go over there and make yourself a dunce cap and wait your turn. What's this about Urich?"

Urich pointed a finger at Peter, relaying his tale as Peter gripped the armrests of his chair to stop himself from interrupting and getting thrown from the office. Once Urich was done, Jameson looked Peter over, expression critical. His eyes were hard under his thick eyebrows as he took the cigar from his mouth. That wasn't a good sign.

"This better not be true, Parker. Embezzling information won't be happening in my office."

"It's not," Peter said, sitting on the edge of his seat with his hands out as if to physically deliver an explanation, "I asked Ben if I could borrow his file to figure out any possible locations for the next robbery, and before I left for work the other day, he caught me by the elevator and gave them to me. He said I just needed to bring them back, and," Peter gestured to the folder still clutched in Urich's hands, "I did. I wouldn't steal his notes, Jameson? Why would I?"

"I don't know," Jameson's hands moved and the cigar burned a lazy smoke trail in the air. His tone took on that mocking note it did whenever he thought a question was a particular brand of stupid, "Why would you, Parker? I'm not your mastermind. You tell me. You're a photographer on a good day and a shoddy journalist on your worst, why are you playing detective in my printing firm?"

It's not like Peter could say he was using it for Spider-Man purposes. If Jameson thought he was relaying Bugle information to Spider-Man - or worse, put two and two together that he WAS the vigilante - he wouldn't need to worry about being fired. Jameson would string his hide outside the building as a sign of vengeance.

"I was trying to figure out any patterns in the robberies so I could get there sooner in case one came up. To take pictures," it sounded like a half-cocked excuse, and he knew it. Jameson's accusations of playing detective weren't far off, but they were ridiculous when you put them to boring, mundane Peter Parker's name. Jameson's eyes said as much as he slowly put the cigar back to his mouth.

"Ask Betty," Peter added, "She was there. She saw Ben give me the papers."

"BRANT!" Jameson yelled without cutting eye contact, and a few seconds later Betty's exasperated face popped in the doorway.

"Yes, Jameson?"

He pointed at Ben, "Did you see Urich give Parker his file on the robbery story he's been following?"

Betty raised an eyebrow as she looked over the two men with more interest than she came in with. But she said, "Uh, yeah, I saw Ben give his notes to Peter. Why?"

"Thanks. That'll be all."

Betty's lips pursed and she looked like she wanted to pester, but Jameson had a habit of firing people on a whim, and she must've decided she liked her job more than a few minutes of satisfying her curiosity. Besides, it's not like she couldn't get the details from either of them later. So she shrugged and left.

"Jameson, I swear I didn't give them to him," Ben insisted, "You've known me for years, why would I lie to you about this?"

"I don't know, Urich, it's not like I asked you to drop your drama on my lap. Brant says you gave Parker the notes."

"But I didn't."

Jameson pinched the bridge of his nose, and for a moment Peter feared he might simply fire them both and save himself the headache. Instead, he fixed them with a hard glare and shuffled the papers on his desk.

"Well, there's something rotten about this whole thing," he stated, "One of you are lying, and it's too early in the morning-"

"It's more afternoon actually-"

"It's morning! And it's too early for this. Urich, stop sharing information if you're going to whine about it being taken, and Parker keep your grubby hands to yourself and stop treating my workplace like recess. Now get outta my office before I chuck the both of you out the window myself."

They returned to their desks without looking at each other. Ben was still pissed and gave Peter a withering glance before sliding into his chair. Peter stewed in his own frustrations as he plopped back at his desk and furiously began his work. But as he clicked at the computer his thoughts took on less steam and he was able to think without red tinting his vision.

Ben wasn't the type to lie. He was a fairly honest man, according to what Peter knows of him, and he's never accused Peter of something like this before. What was the point in blaming him for it in the first place? It made no sense.

Then again, there had been something off about Ben when he gave Peter the folder that day. The way he smiled at Peter, a bit too largely. The way he handed the papers to him, a bit too eagerly. The warmth in his eyes. They've always been good work friends, and he's even asked Peter if he wanted to join him and a few other coworkers for a drink a few times, but never with such geniality. Like he wanted to give Peter a firm hug and a pat on the back.

Unless...that hadn't been Ben.

Peter's fingers stopped moving and his chest hitched. It was an irrational thought. One that held no real substance and was born out of his own refurbished paranoia. Why would it not be Ben? Who else could it be?

His brain was a whirlwind of thoughts trying to make a hazy connection. But like a jigsaw puzzle without all the pieces, he couldn't see the bigger picture. It was right there if only his brain could fill in the gaps.

A flutter of movement drew his attention to the small package left on the corner of his desk. It was simpler than all the others he'd received, it didn't even have a bow on it, and it definitely hadn't been there a second ago. Peter twisted in his chair, half-way out of it already as his eyes caught the figure casually walking down the isle of cubbies and desks. He couldn't see much of them. Just the back of a grey blouse, black slacks, and a bobbing brown ponytail.

"Hey, wait," he said, but instead of turning around, she sped up. She was already close to the open elevator and closed the gap in seconds. Peter lurched to his feet just as she pressed the elevator button.

He was too late. The doors closed around her and the only thing he could see from her turned down face was a large toothy smile.

Peter stood frozen. What the hell was going on? Who was that? If she was the admirer, then why was she so enamored with him? He looked down at the gift still in his hand, having grabbed it as he stood up. With a hammering heart, he slipped the top off, and what was inside made his skin run cold, and the color drain from his face.

Inside, nestled between pieces of white tissue paper, was a small plastic Spider-Man. The kind of figurine you could find with any street vendor pandering to tourists. Tucked beneath it was a folded note. He opened it with shaky fingers.

 **Your secret is safe with me.** Next to the words were two hearts, one red and the other blue. A picture slipped out from the opened note, and if Peter thought his heart couldn't race any faster, he was sorely mistaken.

It was of him. Last night - or this morning technically - before he woke up and saw that person standing outside his window. He was wrapped in the same blanket from the closet, expression light and peaceful as he slept. The picture wasn't even taken outside. The quality was dark, but there was no glare from the window. No glass separating the photographer from his subject. There couldn't be, because they had been in the room with him the whole time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no...


	6. Incriminating

He left quickly after that _._

Peter stuffed the note and doll into his pocket, grabbed his bag, his camera, and was out the door in seconds. He'll call in later and claim he was sick, but right now he couldn't be in that room for another minute. Not without feeling like he was going to throw up.

He didn't bother taking the subway this time, or hailing a taxi, he sidestepped into the first empty alleyway he saw and was swinging back out as Spider-Man within minutes. There was little that could get him moving like this. The last time he felt so panicked was when Venom first bonded with Eddie and they made it their personal mission to unmask him and rip him to shreds - whichever came sooner. He felt this way back when Norman Osborn found out he was Spider-Man. He shuddered, thinking of the sound of his name on Goblin's lips.

The same thing was happening now. The Spider-Man toy - it was a sign. **Your secret is safe with me.** He seriously doubted it. There were few times in his life where someone figured out his alter ego and hadn't immediately gunned for his blood or the blood of his family. Which begged the question: who was this woman? Why was she going after him? And what did she want?

Peter raced through any significant interactions he's with a woman of her hair color and build, but nothing came to mind. It was like searching for a needle in a haystack.

He went straight to his apartment building, but just as it came into sight, he had second thoughts and landed on the shadowed side of a building down the street. If he was being watched, he didn't need any more incentive that he was Spider-Man. So, he dropped behind a dumpster and returned to his civies, checking and double-checking with both his eyes and spider-sense that no one was watching, before scuttling into the crowds. He hurried up to his apartment and practically shoved the key through the door when he made it to his floor. Once inside and the door was locked again, like a madman he whirl winded through each room and closed and locked every window and drew the curtains closed. As he worked, he called Wade, and when it inevitably went to voicemail he wanted to scream and throw his phone at the wall.

"Okay, so, things have escalated," he said after the beep. He hated how hysterical he sounded. "I think my covers blown, _code Blue_ , please call me when you get this. Bye." Short and sweet and so-so panicked Peter inwardly cringed.

The little Spider-Man was burning a hole in his pocket and his eyes were drawn to the collection of gifts on his dresser. His stomach heaved. They didn't look like sweet senseless gifts anymore; they were a dozen red flags waving their alarms and screaming their hidden menace. They needed to go _right now_. He grabbed the trinkets and frantically began tossing them into the garbage next to his desk. In his haste, he bumped the dresser and the little toy camera fell, plummeting to the floor and breaking into a dozen pieces. There was hardly a tear shed for it, and once Peter was finished putting the other gifts in the trash, he bent to do the same to the remains.

But the camera had more to it than he initially thought. Upon leaning down, Peter picked up the miniature camera lens and realized with a start that it was an _actual_ lens. In the mess, an array of wires and plastic stuck out from the broken side of the camera. Peter picked it up to inspect it closer and then crushed it in his hand. It was a camera. An _actual_ camera. One with gears and wires and parts that shouldn't be in a toy. Peter's hand trembled around the crushed remains, uncaring for the jab in his palm where pieces of plastic and metal dug into his skin.

Had the camera worked? Has it been watching his room this whole time? Is this where the stalker got that photo of him? He took out the picture.

No, the angle was all wrong and the toy camera hadn't been facing the bed. It couldn't be the same spot. She would've had to be in the room with him for this picture, which did _nothing_ to make him feel better. Peter threw the camera in the trash with a disgusted curl of his lips.

How hadn't he known? How did he miss the signs?

"Fuck this," he grabbed his phone, dialing the number Tony Stark gave him. It was for emergencies only, as he'd emphasized while typing it into Peter's phone. Peter's never used it before, as he's never had a reason too. He made his own tech, didn't need help on patrols, and didn't feel like being pestered by Tony about SHIELD or joining the Avengers.

But if someone knew he was Spider-Man and was willing to use it against him, then Peter hit a new level of desperation. Tony, at least, had the resources to help him track down this woman and figure out who she is. With JARVIS, he could get everything from her dental records to her kindergarten class photo. But just as Peter hit the first number there was a loud succession of thuds as someone knocked on the door. He froze. Another knock followed, and he crept through the apartment, sliding on his web-shooters, and approached the front door. His spider-sense wasn't humming, but he was too twitchy to care.

A manilla envelope slid across the floor, and a shadow disappeared from under the crack of the door. There were no markings on it, not his name or even a note. His spider-sense was still quiet so it couldn't be anything dangerous. He picked it up, weighing it in his hands. It wasn't very heavy either and there were no distinguishing bumps or creases. He slid the top open.

He was wrong. So wrong. This was quite possibly the most dangerous thing that could've happened to him. Inside were pictures, dozens of them, of him.

Him eating at his favorite cafe. Him walking down the street. Standing in the subway, playing on his phone as he waited for the train. At the Bugle, leaning back in his chair and sipping his coffee as he examined the string of coding he worked out. Standing in his apartment, Spider-man costume on and mask off. At his desk, working on his web-shooters. Perched on the wall in nothing but sweatpants and a t-shirt.

There were some of Wade too. The both of them sitting on a building eating lunch in costume. Them walking in the park, a hotdog in hand and laughing at a stupid joke. Sitting on the couch in their apartment, arguing over the cheap Avengers coasters Wade bought, because they couldn't decide who should get the Thor coaster and whether or not they should throw out Tony's just to piss him off.

But it wasn't just him and Wade, there were pictures of Aunt May and MJ too. At their jobs, on the streets, in their _homes._ Peter wasn't the only one being watched.

Among the damning pictures was a note. Peter opened it with shaky fingers.

**You tell anyone and they're the ones who get hurt. I'm watching. I'll know.**

Curled in the note were two more pictures. One of MJ asleep in her bed, the camera so close he could see the bundle of knots in her hair and the wrinkles in her pajamas. The other was Aunt May, taken from outside the house and looking in from the kitchen window. It was dark out, and Aunt May was walking in from the living room, her white hair neatly kept around her tired face. All she had to do was look up and she'd be looking straight at the camera.

Peter wasn't sure when his legs gave out from under him, all he knew was that suddenly he was on the floor and he couldn't breathe. The note slipped from his fingers but he barely noticed. He felt light-headed, his hands shook. All he could see were the scattered pictures around him, each embossed with the faces of those he cared about most in the world, all of them threatened and in danger. How did that woman get so close to them? She was inside MJ's apartment, outside Aunt May's house. She'd been in his apartment too, taking pictures of him, and apparently has been watching him and Wade for months. Those pictures of Wade were taken just before he'd left on his job.

Was she the one who robbed him too? Did she steal his blankets? Did she break into Aunt May's house and steal those photographs? Why? What did she want? Why was she doing this? He didn't recognize her face, and he couldn't place her from hair and build alone.

Peter stumbled to his feet, nausea overwhelming him. He teetered through the hall and barely made it to the bathroom before he was throwing up his lunch. Most of it made it in the toilet, thankfully. He curled around the porcelain bowl, clutching its sides as he emptied his stomach. He didn't have much of an appetite all day, so it was mostly dry heaving.

When he was done convulsing over the toilet, he wiped his mouth with the edge of his sleeve, and still shaking, got to his feet. He found his phone with the sudden insatiable urge to call Aunt May and check on her. To hear MJ's voice and know that she was okay. For once, Peter was thankful Wade was out of town so he wasn't in the line of fire either, but then again, Wade was just the kind of person he wanted by his side for this. At least together they could handle it. As crazy and irresponsible as people thought Wade was, he was scarily good at his job. He always bragged that he could find anyone, anywhere, and that he didn't even need a mental mutant contraption to do it. (" _Suck it, Xavier_!")

Peter had the phone pressed to his ear when something else came to mind. What if she was watching him right now? Could she be listening in? She snuck a camera into his apartment, it was possible she hid a microphone too. He ended the call, and peered skeptically around the room. Nothing looked out of place. Nothing was disturbed or changed. But he was riled up now and his hackles were effectively raised. This apartment used to be a safe haven; the place he went to after patrols to wind down and recuperate.

He didn't feel safe here anymore.

But this stalker couldn't bug the whole city. Peter was still wearing his shoes, so all he needed to do was grab his coat and head out the door. Whoever slipped the envelope inside was long gone by now and the hallways were empty.

He didn't feel any better on the street and shrunk in his coat, eyes narrowed as he watched people pass him by. He probably looked shady as hell, and if he lingered someone might get suspicious, so he kept moving until he was down in the subway. Once on a train, he found the least crowded car and stationed himself next to one of the poles in the back. It was still too packed for his liking, but he kept an eye out for any woman with brown hair and waited until the train was moving before he dialed Wade's number and brought it to his ear. He'll call Tony right after, but he'll feel better knowing he sent a message to Wade.

Besides, there was a chance Tony wouldn't pick up and Peter doubted he'd listen to any voicemail he left behind. The mission in Wakanda was still going and it was a lot more important than a spider-guy in New York and his stalker.

As expected, the call was left to voicemail, but just as Peter inhaled to start his message, someone pressed up close to his back and whispered, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Peter's words died in his throat. He tried to turn, but the woman behind him grabbed the back of his jacket and something hard probed his back. His spider-sense hummed.

"Don't do that either," she whispered, "In fact, from here on out, I suggest you stop calling your boyfriend at all," her tone. She sounded angry, "I know who you are, Peter. And if I find out you kept calling him, I might do something we'll both regret. Do you understand me?"

When Peter didn't reply she shoved the hard object - a gun?- harder into his back until he nodded.

"Good," her tone lightened and she sounded relieved, as if he'd given her good news." The train was beginning to slow as it came to its next stop. She pressed closer, voice dropping so low he almost couldn't catch it.

"Don't be afraid, okay. I'm not going to hurt you. I don't _want_ to hurt you."

Peter snorted disdainfully, "Is that right? Well I -" she cut him off with a quiet "Shhhhh. I don't _want to hurt_ anyone; I promise."

"Doesn't sound like a very good promise," he snapped.

"Just stop calling your little _boyfriend_ ," she said the word 'boyfriend' as if personally offended by it, "And we'll get along just nicely. You hear me?" When Peter didn't respond, she leaned in closer, making the back of his neck tickle from her breath, "I said, do you hear me?"

He nodded. And then the train was coming to a screeching stop and people got up to leave, the presence at his back left as suddenly as it arrived and Peter turned to see her figure walking calmly out with the line of people, an innocent pep in her step. She had the same brown hair from the office in the same ponytail.

Peter liked to think he had a good hold on his anger, but there were times it got the better of him. Like right now, it swarmed around him, tightening his jaw and clenching his hands like clamps. He shoved his way through those departing and stumbled out of the train, whipping around wildly.

Ahead of him, her black jacket weaved among the crowd, and he latched onto it before it could disappear in the multitude. Dodging people, he followed her as she put the hood over her head and ducked behind another crowd. Peter was there in minutes and grabbed her by the shoulder where she'd stopped to check her phone. An amateur move.

"Hey," he snapped, "Who do you-" the boy he grabbed recoiled from him with wide, terrified eyes. In Peter's aggression, one of his headphones had fallen out and now dangled helplessly from one ear. This boy was, well, a boy as far as Peter knew, and his hair was blonde, not brown. Peter blinked and stepped back.

"Oh, I'm -" he looked around but there were a dozen other black coats now. Too many to differentiate. She was gone. "I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else."

The boy didn't say anything, but he gave Peter another terrified look and hastily shuffled off, calling up a friend on his phone to make sure the stranger in the subway didn't follow him home. Peter did another twirl around the platform. There were women with brown hair among the crowd, but he didn't recognize any of them.

Then again, he hadn't recognized her either.

He wiped a hand over his face, blinking hard. He almost hurt that kid. He grabbed him far too tightly for someone with his strength. He needed to get a grip on himself before he actually hurt somebody.

But he _couldn't_ get a grip on himself. He could feel his grip slipping. He'd thought he was alone. He went here because he wanted to get a step ahead of her. But she was with him the whole time, right behind him.

All this proved was that she was truly watching him.

Maybe she was still here, hiding among the crowds as people boarded trains and others got off. How would he know? Suddenly feeling exposed, Peter curled his jacket tight and left the subway. He didn't know which stop he got off at, but he could figure it out.

It was harder to recognize his surroundings from the ground, as he's gotten used to a bird's eye view of the city, but he managed to pin-point one of the carts he frequented as Spider-Man and plotted a way home from there. There was no point in wondering if he was going to be followed, she already knew where he lived.

Calling anyone was out of the question. She was watching too closely. Even talking to Wade wasn't an option anymore, because the moment he punched in his number that psycho could rig up a bomb to go off at MJ's, or slink off and hurt Aunt May, or simply send those incriminating photos to the closest media outlet and watch his life fall apart.

He could still feel the press of her gun at his back.

Peter grit his teeth and his eyes flashed. She was wrong if she thought he was going to sit down and take this. He underestimated her, yes, but he was still Spider-Man. He's been protecting this city for years, and this wouldn't be the first time he's had to fly solo against a threat and it probably wouldn't be the last.

He's gotten used to having Wade around and the safety net he provided, but Peter was going to get to the bottom of this.

This game was far from over and Spider-Man was finally taking his place at the table.


	7. Making a Move

Peter called in sick to the Bugle for the rest of the week. Aside from the obvious superhero-mentality of not wanting to further involve any of the people at his job, he didn't think he could accept the knowledge that he was being watched and then be expected to go about his day normally.

Which he didn't. Things were far from normal now, even for a spider-human mutate like himself. Because of the screwed up nature of the entire situation, Peter holed himself up in his apartment, keeping all the windows closed and doors locked. Even then, he isolated himself to his room, only leaving when he needed to go to the bathroom or wanted something from the kitchen, which was already almost empty, so he didn't have many reasons to venture past the hallway.

And if that wasn't a testament to his reintroduced paranoia, then his impulsive sweeps of the apartment to look for hidden cameras and listening devices was. His paranoia had become his new weighted blanket, only without the warmth and comfort and safety it provided. This one was a lot heavier and suffocating and impossible to ignore.

So, he didn't try to ignore it. He sat at his desk, fidgeted with his web-shooters, and thought.

He always did his best thinking when he was working with his hands or webs-slinging through the city. It gave his hands something to do while his brain went on overtime. He wanted to go web-slinging, mostly because it would be near impossible to track him on foot and he liked the idea of leaving this stalker of his far, far behind. But he worried that she'd find his absence sketchy and do something to take the spandex off the table, and he wanted Spider-Man on the table in case he needed him.

So, his options were limited to one other thing: hunched over his desk, screwdriver in hand, and web-shooters in pieces at his fingertips. Thinking.

If he wanted to find this person, this stalker, then he needed to be smart about it. The only advantage she had was that she knew his secret identity and had a direct line of attack towards his family. If this were just some power-crazed supervillain like Venom or Goblin, Peter could punch his way out of this first. But she's not as brash as they were. She wasn't knocking down his door and trying to cut him to ribbons. No, she was cunning. It's obvious she doesn't want a physical confrontation if the way she's been avoiding a face-to-face conversation was an indicator. She kept their interactions in crowded areas so he couldn't do anything that would draw attention because a 25-year-old man kicking a seemingly innocent woman across the subway platform wouldn't be very good for his image.

Which meant he needed to do the opposite of what she was doing. He needed to isolate her. Get her somewhere away from crowds, where she can't run and she can't hide her face. But that wasn't as easy as it sounded. Given how long she's been at this, she probably had a system down pat.

But there was a teensy flaw in her plan: him knowing that she's out there.

Now that he knows, she doesn't have the element of surprise. She made it seem like she was watching him all the time, and their confrontation on the subway only added to that. But because she had photos of his family, that meant she couldn't be with him 24/7. She had to take time to watch them as well, and that was without knowing what her personal life was like and whether or not she had her own job and family. Judging by how much time she put into watching his, he seriously doubted it.

The first thing he needed to do was get a window of time by himself. A way to know for certain that her attention was away from him.

She was watching MJ and Aunt May too, which meant she was spread out pretty thin already, and it was an option to use them as a distraction. But Peter immediately vetoed that idea. Knowing those two, they'd jump at the chance to help catch this motherfucker, but that was under the circumstances that a) his stalker allowed him the time and opportunity to explain the situation and come up with a plan, and b) if he was going to involve them at _all_.

He promised MJ that he'd stop distancing himself, but this was completely different. This threat could harm both her and Aunt May if Peter so much as sneezed wrong. Yes, the woman said she wasn't going to hurt them, but she couldn't show him pictures of his loved ones, vulnerable and alone in their homes, and claim she was harmless. Didn't work that way.

So, even in the off chance that he did involve Aunt May and MJ, it was only a last resort, and even then the option was so far on the backburner that Peter didn't even consider it a real option.

Point was, his stalker had to be close to him a majority of the time without it looking suspicious. Someone was bound to notice someone else shady loitering in the halls and darkening doorsteps. There were good people in this building, families, and couples, and middle classmen who kept to themselves and just tried to get by. Yes, the landlord could be a bit of a hack sometimes, but even she got off her butt and did her job when it came down to it. Besides, this was all ignoring the fact that he had a literal _danger sense,_ which was supposed to give him a knock on the head every time something remotely harmful was nearby.

Huh. Peter's tinkering froze, the screwdriver half planted into the underbelly of the web-shooters. The sudden realization was like a rock dropped in a puddle, creating a big splash that stirred ripples in the water. That's the thing, wasn't it? His spider-sense _has_ been going off around his neighbors. Just the other day it went off around that little girl, but what if it hadn't sensed the girl at all. Would if the woman had just been nearby, maybe even behind the door the little girl was standing by.

Maybe she was in one of the apartments.

Instead of settling, the ripples expanded, creating waves that rolled through his brain. It would explain how she kept such a close track of him, and how she knew which fire escape to climb through to get to his room. How she could've robbed him without anyone being the wiser. But he didn't recall seeing her in the building at all. Not once. There was a man who lived by himself at the end of the hall, and a woman and her girlfriend not too far from his room. The old man across from him, and the single dad and his two kids next to the old man.

Which one was holding a psycho stalker woman? And did they know he was Spider-Man too?

Whichever it was, he needed to check their apartments. There had to be a way to get people out of their rooms, either one by one or all at once without being seen himself. Once that happened, it became a simple game of hide and seek. But how to go about it without tipping her off that he was looking for her? If she thought he was closing in, she could just destroy the evidence, or back it up on a server he didn't have access to and play innocent until she could act on the threats.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. At the sprinklers in the middle of the room that didn't work. At the barren mattress devoid of blankets sans one. At the closet where his and Wade's gear sat hidden. His eyes flitted over to his phone, where a text from MJ was sitting on the screen.

He didn't like it, but he had an idea.

* * *

MJ looked surprised to see him and Peter can't blame her. All he'd sent prior to showing up was " **Where r you rn** " via text message and hadn't responded when MJ replied " **home. Why?** "

There was always the chance he was being followed now that he was aware of his stalker. So he had to be quick about this. He had to be careful.

"Peter?" MJ sputtered, following him back into her apartment as he scoped out the windows to make sure no obvious people were watching from buildings or rooftops around. He debated closing the curtains, but if the woman was out there, it might alert her that he was going to try telling MJ what was going on. Her threats were clear enough when they said he wasn't allowed to spill the beans.

What are you doing?" MJ demanded, the long wool shirt she was wearing swept up with her arms as she put them over her chest.

"I just...wanted to check on you," he said, going for an airy smile that MJ saw through immediately.

She squinted and flattened her lips into a line before asking, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing" Peter insisted, having his hands in front of himself as if she were being silly, "I just wanted to check on you. Weren't you the one who said I needed to branch out more and visit you guys?"

"Yeah, but you're supposed to give us a heads up first. No reason to ignore common decency.

Peter pointed to the doors putting on the kicked puppy look that MJ was 'oh so kind to point out, "So do you want me to leave?"

Her pursed lips twitched and she scoffed around the smile she was trying to suppress, rolling her eyes, "Never should've told you about that face. No, you don't have to go. You're lucky I have today off, but I'm heading out with some friends tonight, so I don't know how long you plan on staying."

Peter blinked at her, "You have friends? I mean, other friends?"

MJ snorted as she wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge, "Unlike you, I do have a social life," she snarked, rummaging through Tupperware, "Pretty sure _I'm_ the only friend _you_ have though."

Peter shrugged, not exactly disagreeing, "I could have friends," is what he went with, "If I tried."

"Uh-huh," she said with her back turned, 'But you decide not to because of Spidey reasons? Classic Peter. What was your excuse in High School before the powers?"

Peter scowled at her as he leaned against one of the cupboards, "Meanie. I had friends. I had Harry too."

"Me and Harry," her grin was wry as she turned and set down a plate of left-over bean dip - how did she know he was hungry? "Quite the friend list you've got there."

Peter hmphed, but took one of the chips she offered, "Well, I take quality over quantity."

MJ scooped up a large amount of bean dip and stuffed it into her mouth, "Don't diss my friends if you haven't met them," she said around the mouthful and Peter smiled despite himself. "But seriously," she continued, "Why are you here? Don't give me a shitty excuse."

" _Really_ , I'm just here to say hi," he said, and the look she gave him could've toppled cities.

"Fine, if you're going to lie to me at least make it interesting. I wanted to steal your fridge, MJ. I wanted to transfer my powers to you, MJ. I want to confess my undying love for you, MJ."

"Hey," Peter pointed a finger at her, "That only happened once."

She wrinkled her nose and spit her tongue out at him, but it was all in good humor and they both let it off with a chuckle.

"Just...tell me about your day," Peter said, going for nonchalance as he helped himself to more of the dip.

MJ considered the question, "It's been...good," she settled on, "Nothing much today. Just been lounging at home. Read a good review on the show I've been on, and it was good. Said I looked too stiff in some areas, but whatcha gonna do?"

"Oh, poor TV star MJ," Peter crooned, laying his head in his hands, and she flicked a stray bean at him that had fallen on the counter.

"Oh shush, you weren't complaining when this TV star bought you dinner last week," she settled back against the counter, nibbling on a cracker as she continued, "But things have been pretty good. Got a little bit of fan mail the other day, and that was kind of cool. Someone even sent me some roses," she nodded toward the vase sitting on the table, most of the flower tips were darkening from rot, "Oh, and I did get the sweetest gift. I mentioned on a talk show that Spider-Man was one of my favorite heroes," she winked at him, "And someone sent me a Spider-Man plushie to 'watch and keep me safe,' she laughed it off but Peter felt an ever familiar chill wash down his back. He wanted to attempt a chuckle, at least, but his chest was so tight he didn't think he could spare the breath.

"Oh really,' he said as calmly and nonchalantly as he could force it, "Hahah, that's cute. Where'd you put it?"

"Oh, put it in my room, didn't know where else," was he too stiff? He was acting too stiff. Why else would MJ squint at him more closely and asked, suddenly skeptical, "Why?"

Peter shrugged, "No reason. Just curious," and stuffed his mouth with dip to avoid answering any more questions.

MJ didn't look nearly as convinced as Peter wished she would, but she was always perceptive. But it didn't matter because that plushie was exactly where he needed to look. He couldn't explain it, but the stalker had this...humor about her. All the trinkets she gave him, the camera and the spider-doll and ceramic hotdog to name a few, followed the same theme: him. And this plushie followed it.

That's where he needed to check. But if the woman _was_ watching MJ, she might have the room bugged as well, and there were plenty of places to hide a microphone. He couldn't just stride in here and tell MJ that her "fan" might not be a fan at all.

"Well, as a certified Spider-Man, I think I should judge all plushies of myself to make sure they're up to standard," Peter said in mock seriousness, putting something lighter in his tone. It might've worked because MJ rolled her eyes.

"How do you fit that ego through the door?"

"I tilt sideways."

"Come on, if you really need to see it."

She led him into the bedroom and waved toward the small Spider-Man sitting on the dresser. It was simple but well done, with a few cheap jewels bedazzling the black area of the plushies eyes. Peter picked it up, lifting his nose as if were a distinguished scientist looking over a new report. He turned it around in his hands and his eyes narrowed at the black jewel in the corner of the plushie's eye lens. Except it wasn't a jewel at all. The difference was so small that no one would notice if they weren't seeking it out.

A camera, as he suspected. He set it back down. "I guess it'll do," he shrugged, "But it can't compare to the real thing."

"I don't know," MJ teased, "This one's a lot quieter. I think I enjoy his company more."

Peter laughed, nodding again. "Rude, but fair. Hey, do you think I could borrow your washing machine again? I have a lot of laundry and I don't want to spend money at a laundromat."

MJ's amusement immediately fell in favor of the dead look she gave him, "Again? Really?"

"Please, I promise this is the last time."

"You said that last time."

"This is the LAST last time."

"You're impossible," she muttered, massaging her forehead.

Peter grinned cheekily, "And I don't suppose you could show me how it works again?"

She looked ready to whack him upside the head, "How many times do I need to show you?"

"Just this last time."

"You said that last-"

'"Yes, but this is the for real last time."

" _Fine_ , but I swear if you ask me again, I'm charging your broke ass. Come on." She led him down the hall to a small, enclosed laundry room that came with her gigantic apartment - the perks of being a star, he supposed. She muttered and shook her head all the while, "He has a degree in science and engineering and can't work a washing machine."

"Okay," she slapped the top of the washing machine, "First things first, this is where you put things in to WASH them,"

"Yep," Peter said and reached behind her to the dryer and turned it on.

"Those are already dry-" MJ started but Peter put a finger to his lips. She quirked an eyebrow but Peter waited until the rumbling of the dryer filled the room before he spoke. It was good and loud and the microphones wouldn't be able to pick up any conversation over it.

"Okay listen carefully," Peter said, dropping the facade, "I need you to do something for me and then I need you to get out of here."

"Peter, what are you-"

"This is a code blue, MJ."

Her eyes widened and she clutched the side of the washer, "A code blue?"

'"Yes, someone's been watching me and I think they've been watching you. That Spider-Man plushie in your room has a camera in it."

"A _camera_?"

"Yes. I need you to get rid of that plushie, but you need to do it in a way that isn't suspicious. Make it look like an accident, but as soon as you do I need you to go somewhere. Anywhere but here or Aunt May's. Leave the city if you can."

"Peter, what is going on?"

"I don't have time to explain, it's probably already suspicious that we've been talking over here for this long. I need you to trust me, alright. Get rid of the plushie, and then get out of here. We need to move fast if I'm going to catch this one. She's very tricky."

MJ's eyes widened in surprise, "She? Is she a new one?"

"I don't know," Peter admitted, running a hand down his face, "But she's got me backed in a corner, MJ. I need you to do this for me. Can you do it?"

MJ nodded, her red hair bouncing around her shoulders, "Yeah, I can do it."

Peter nodded, "Okay. Good. Then we need to move fast."

She nodded again, this one more determined as she entered what he referred to as "Terminator Mode" and together they left the laundry room. The moment they stepped outside the range of noise MJ had her exasperated look back and was talking again, "Don't put too much detergent in the washer, and for heaven's sake don't forget to switch it. Your clothes are going to stink if you leave them sitting in the washer all day, and I don't need that smell in my apartment either. Got it?"

It still amazed Peter how good she was at getting into character. Not even a slip or clue that something was askew. "I got it," Peter said, hoping he sounded just as convincing. Years as Spider-Man should have given him some skills in playing a part.

"Honestly, you give me such a headache," she sighed, stopping next to the minifridge in the corner of her room, "Do you want a beer? Or Mikes? I don't normally day-drink but it's been a while since you've sat down with me and had a drink. Still sitting with that stick up your ass?"

Peter gave her a hard look, "I drink, MJ. It just doesn't do much for me."

She shrugged and uncapped a bottle, tipping her head back to take a long guzzle. She hissed at the burn but gave it a satisfying hum. "Maybe we can test it sometimes. We'll buy a whole bunch of beer and drink all night. See how long it takes for you to get a buzz going."

"Wade and I already tested that," Peter smirked. "The buzz only lasts a few minutes. 15 at most."

MJ blew him a raspberry, "You're no fun. You really need to-" that's when it happened. Just as she was walking near the dresser she stumbled, tripping over something that wasn't there and spilling her drink over the dark wood where it splashed onto the plushie. "OH fuck," she cursed, immediately pulling it into her hands to twist it side to side and assess for damage, "Dammit."

"That's what you get for day drinking," Peter laughed and she flipped him a rude gesture.

"Whatever. Hey, do you think these are machine washable?"

Peter had to bite back his grin, "Um, yeah I think so."

"Good. If it wrecks it though, you're buying me a new one."

"With what money?"

"Figure it out, bug boy," MJ called as she returned to the washer, stuck a few of the dirty rags piled on the ground inside, and dumped the plushie alongside it. She grinned as she closed the lid and started the machine. "That should do it."

Peter shoved her suitcase into her hands the moment she stepped back into the room, "Good, now you need to get out of here. Leave _right_ now and try not to let anyone see you."

"Peter, tell me what's going on," MJ demanded, throwing the suitcase on the bed and planting her hands on her hips.

Peter put his hands together as if in prayer and pressed them against his lips, "We literally have no time, MJ. Whoever had that camera on you is probably on their way over right now to plant a new one and you can't be here when they arrive. I need you to leave, okay. Look as inconspicuous as possible. Don't tell anyone where you're going."

"That doesn't sound sketchy at all," she drawled, and Peter took a deep breath, grasping her shoulders.

"I will explain everything as soon as I catch this person, okay. I promise. But there's no time right now, I need you to go. Please, MJ, I wouldn't be asking you to do this if it wasn't serious."

MJ studied his face for a few precious seconds before conceding, "Fine. Alright, I'll go. But you will tell me everything once this is over," she strode to her dresser and furiously began stuffing clothes into the suitcase.

Peter debated staying with her until she was out of the building and in the nearest cab, but he was on the clock too. While the stalker was here, he needed to be back at their apartment building. Besides, MJ was resourceful and after dealing with Spider-Man shit for years, she knew how the system went.

"Okay, be safe," Peter said, pausing long enough to give her a hug, "Don't talk to strangers."

He could feel her smile on his shoulder as she returned the hug, 'Right back at you."

"I need to go; I don't have much time."

"Then get out of here. I'll be out in 10 minutes tops."

He nodded and left.

Leaving her here, knowing that the stalker was on her way right now made Peter uneasy, and he wanted more than anything to plant himself in MJ's apartment and wait for her to show up. He could do that, but she might be expecting it. She was clever. Besides, if she could sneak into his apartment while he was asleep, without him knowing about it, then she could probably do the same here.

Maybe he should just stay and confront her. But he wouldn't have any evidence that she's been stalking him if he did that, and he _needed_ to destroy every picture she had on him. So no, this needed to go smoothly.

He walked out into the streets and turned into an alleyway, slipping into his Spider-Man suit. He took all the quick routes that avoided the more heavily populated streets, not wanting to be seen. He needed to be quick, he could feel the seconds ticking on without him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this was supposed to be posted 2 days ago, but things came up and I was only able to finish it now. But yeah, here you go! Hope you enjoyed! The next chapter will either be out tomorrow or the day after.


	8. The Gambit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for past mentions of sex ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Peter made it back to the apartment in record time.

He came in through the window, suit still on, and slipped his mask off so he could gingerly peek out into the hallway. Empty. Blessedly empty. He yanked the mask back on and crawled into the hall via the wall. These next few seconds were precious, so he needed to be quick. He found the closest fire alarm and with a glance thrown over his shoulder, opened the plastic case. Sharp sounds; always unpleasant on the ears, especially if yours happened to be enhanced. He took a second to steel himself and then pulled the trigger inside. The shrill ringing that followed was like jagged spikes to his ear-drums, and he hated it as much as he thought he would, but he raced back to the apartment and was closing the door just as the rest of the occupants on the floor trickled out in confusion. He listened to their quiet murmuring, first confused, then worried, and finally alarm as they recognized the sound and bee-lined for the stairs.

Yeah, Peter felt bad for disturbing their day, but he made himself feel better by reminding himself that most of the tenants were out of the building at this time of day anyway, so most of them wouldn't even be here. One of the women down the hall watched the single dads' children for him and she wouldn't have any issues getting them downstairs. Besides, there was no fire, so none of them were in danger. The worst it would do was spook them a little.

He waited until the halls were empty again before making his next move.

The fire department would be on their way, so that was another thing he added to his growing list of ticking clocks. Deadlines - he was always terrible at keeping deadlines; they were his true arch-nemesis. But not today, because he was a man on a mission.

On the bright side, when confronted with a fire, most people weren't concerned with locking their doors on their way out, and more than half were still open so he didn't even need to break any locks. It was a small win, but he'd take every bit of victory that he could.

He started at the bottom of the hall and made his way up. There was nothing in the couple's apartment, no hint that they even knew him at all. Same went for the old man. There were a couple of pictures of Spider-Man and a few toys in the apartment housing the dad and his kids, but Peter chalked that up to children and not a perverted stalker. With as much painstaking care as he could spare in his haste, he went through each and every one of the rooms, and he was disappointed every time. There was nothing there. This plan was already a risky gamble, he couldn't afford for there to be anything.

 _Was I wrong_? He thought frantically as he combed through the single dad's drawers. Did he just needlessly endanger MJ? Sent that crazy woman to MJ's home only for this entire thing to turn out a bust? What was the stalker going to think when she came back and heard about a 'false fire alarm?' She had to know he was behind it, because who else was there?

What was she going to do when she found out?

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he hissed.

There were only two rooms left. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she wasn't even in the building. Maybe she was in the opposite building, watching from one of their windows. Maybe she's been staking him out on rooftops. Hell, at this point, it was plausible that she stuck a tracker on his body and was following him that way.

The room belonging to a sister and her brother was empty too, which left the man at the end of the hall. Peter's dread dripped from him like sweat and his stomach dropped to the floor. If this didn't provide answers, then he was royally screwed. He'd have to get Aunt May out of the city as soon as possible, he didn't want her in the crossfire if things got worse. Besides, if the news dropped that Peter Parker was Spider-Man, he wanted Aunt May to be as far from the ensuing carnage as she could physically be. MJ, too. Oh, they were going to hate him so much for uprooting their lives.

Peter wrapped his hand around the last doorknob, heart beating so hard in his chest he could feel it punching his lungs, but was surprised to find this door locked. He tilted his head. Maybe the man was at work. There wasn't time to sneak out and come in through the window, so there was no avoiding this. Peter broke the lock with an easy jerk of his wrist and swung the door outward. Still resistance. Another lock? Looks like Peter and Wade weren't the only paranoid ones in the building.

Peter broke that one too. The apartment, in a word, was simple. There was nothing that stood out. The furniture was few and far between and most of the appliances didn't look used. But the room was well kept and cleaned, and despite the strange absence of life, there were pictures on the wall of the man with a young girl, and an older woman. Peter didn't dwell on those, he could feel the seconds falling down his skin like a cold sweat and got to work casing the place.

He searched the entry closet, the kitchen, the living room, the hallway bathroom, and like every other room, there was nothing. It was another ordinary apartment housing an ordinary person. Peter's nerves were fried and he ran a hand over his masked head with a frustrated noise. So this whole thing was a bust after all. He just pulled the biggest gambit he could've attempted, and he bet _wrong_. What was he supposed to do now? Go back to MJ's apartment and hope the woman was still there? Go back to his apartment and pretend it never happened? Play dumb and hope she didn't suspect he had anything to do with this?

No, she'd never believe that. Peter tugged on his mask, looking around desperately. This couldn't be all there was. There had to be something else here. _Something_ to give him an advantage. This was his last option, he didn't have anything else.

The bedroom was empty. Nothing out of the ordinary, just a regular man and his regular socks. Peter snapped the drawer to the dresser shut and ran a hand down his face, cupping his jaw. There weren't even signs that there were two people living here. Aside from the pictures with the woman and the little girl, it was obvious this man lived alone. Hell, Peter didn't even see him often because he kept to himself. He was always polite on the few occasions that they ran into each other in the halls, but he never stayed long enough to chat and was out of his apartment most of the time. He had black hair and a beard, and went by he/him, so Peter was positive he wasn't a woman, and he never came home with anyone else as far as Peter knew.

But Peter was desperate now. He'd take anything, even a misplaced porn magazine, _anything._ He reached for the closet, stepping past the door to the bathroom, and stopped. There was a smell. Something sharp and acrid, but familiar. Chemicals. Peter swung the door open, flicking on the lights, and as the bulbs flashed to life his blood ran cold.

He supposed this was where he was supposed to jump and yell _JACKPOT!_ and pump his fist in the air, but frankly, he was too busy being horrified to succumb to the urge.

Pictures. Dozens upon dozens upon _dozens_ of them, everywhere. Plastered all over the walls, hanging from the shower, drying over the tub, in neat piles on the floor. The sink had a pan in its bowl and below it was bottles of chemicals he recognized for developing pictures. This was a dark room.

And worst of all, every picture was of him.

Pictures of him eating, walking, talking on the phone. Some of him at the Bugle while he was working, and _many_ of them were opening the presents on his desk (documenting his reactions). There were some of him in his Spider-Man suit fighting muggers, talking to the police, and some cut straight from newspapers and magazines. There was a handful of MJ and Aunt May, some of them at their jobs, but mostly at their homes. There were even pictures of Wade in the mess, dating back before he went on his job. Pictures of them going out to dinner or watching movies, or on their way to Aunt May's. Peter was appalled to find one looking at him through the window. It was from a distance and the angle was askew, but he could see himself laid out on the bed, phone pressed to his ear with a hand down his pants - he remembered the day that was taken. A week after he left, Wade called Peter to tell him that he wasn't going to be able to receive calls or texts for a while. They'd talked for a bit and one thing led to another, and to put it bluntly, suddenly they were having phone sex. They thought _why not?_ It was going to be a while before they saw each other again and Peter hadn't thought much of it - it wouldn't even be the first time they've done that. But he was mortified that someone had been _watching_ and taking _pictures_ of it. Peter snatched that one right off the wall and ripped it in half, then fourths, and then again until it was nothing but ineligible scraps of paper.

Nope, not happening. That was not a picture that needed to exist and he scoured the walls for any more promiscuous ones and he found only a few; one of him and Wade from a few months back, and he yanked it down where it got the same fate as the first. They really needed to start closing their curtains more.

But more importantly, he was _right_. She has been here. He didn't know how she snuck in or what she was doing with this man, but he wasn't about to wait and ask. He left the bathroom, his entire body buzzing. There was still the closet to check and he was tempted to bypass it. He already found what he needed. But the industry didn't pay for being sloppy, and he's learned the importance of checking the corners over the years.

And he was very glad that he did it this time. Inside was something that made the pictures look like a silly prank. Several monitors had been set up and each displayed little boxes with a camera view of his apartment. There were a _lot_ more cameras in his house that he hadn't picked up one. But more pressingly, others were in Aunt May's house and...in MJ's apartment.

 _Oh fuck_. The plushie hadn't been the only one in there.

His attention latched onto the video feed of MJ's apartment and he drank-in every pixel. It looked like MJ was already gone and the camera in her bedroom was still offline. Good, that meant he still had some time at least, but how much? Probably not a lot.

But that didn't matter because Peter wasn't running. He was going to wait for the woman here and finally nip this in the bud. He paused and looked back at the bathroom, tapping his finger on the desk.

He'd nip this in the bud _after_ he got rid of all the incriminating evidence that he was Spider-Man. All the video feed and photos that linked him and the hero would have to be destroyed. It'd take more time to go through the video feed one-by-one and edit parts out, so all of it would go. He'd leave the ones with MJ, Aunt May, so that there was some evidence of what the woman was doing, but there was no saving his. But that would come later, right now he made his way back to the bathroom and began the work of tearing down pictures with fervish. He'd need to look for backups in the computer system too and look for hidden files, but at least he was finally getting somewhere.

Most of the incriminating photos were down when the door at his back creaked and Peter whirled around, immediately falling into a defensive crouch. Standing in the doorway was a man. He looked startled. His black hair and beard looked neatly kept, but his blue eyes were wide and his mouth was agape. Peter didn't give him the chance to scream, he shot a web, first to his mouth, then to the rest of his body, pinning him to the wall. The thud that followed made him wince, and Peter quickly peered around the room for any stragglers, but the man was alone. The woman wasn't here.

"Look, I don't know who you are," Peter growled, approaching the man, "Or who your friend is, but consider this little peeping tom party over. The police will be here any minute, and-" to Peter's surprise, the man let out a relieved sob and his head thunked back against the wall. He mumbled something into the webs, looking at Peter in such earnest that it made his stomach drop.

Cautiously, he shortened the distance between them, and with the little knife he promised Wade he'd keep in his boot, he slit the webs off his mouth.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," the man babbled, eyes wet, "Please, yes please. I'm - I'm so sorry, I didn't - thank you. I thought no one would come, I-"

Peter backed-up, squinting at him. Was this for real? The man was still babbling apologies and ''thank you's'' and Peter peered at him more critically, "What are you talking about?"

The man sucked in a breath and took a moment to try and compose himself. It didn't help much. "Okay, um, my - my name is George Thatcher, I - I work for a credit repair company. I - " he took another deep breath, "A couple months ago, a...a woman showed up in my apartment. She just broke in and forced me to let her stay here. Threatened me if I didn't keep quiet about it. She's - she's been developing those photos in the bathroom and watching you for a while. I don't know why, I swear. Not until I saw the pictures. I've wanted to say something to you for months, I promise."

"Why didn't you?"

He looked down, face tightening as if he were trying to swallow a golf ball, "I...I have a daughter. The wife and I split up and I don't get to see her very often, but I love my daughter, Spider-Man, sir. She threatened her, you see. Said she'd kidnap her and sell her to a human trafficking ring if I did anything. I'm...I'm sorry, but I couldn't let that happen to my baby girl. I - I couldn't -" he tried to say, but his voice went strained and he looked close to tears now.

Peter glanced at the few pictures on the wall that were of this man and a young girl, some with the woman that he suspected to be the divorced-mother. They were mostly older pictures of the girl when she was maybe 5 years old, and the man's hair was fuller then, which made sense if he got divorced and didn't get to see his daughter as often. All in all, it didn't look like he was lying. There were tears in his eyes and he kept sucking in large breaths. Hell, he looked close to a panic attack, and Peter rushed forward, shushing him.

"Okay, okay, calm down," he said, cutting the webbing off, "Don't worry about your daughter, she'll be safe, I promise. Do you know when the woman who did this will be back?"

He shook his head rapidly.

"Okay, well, head downstairs. Call the police, tell them everything...except maybe the part about who I am."

"Of course, Spider-Man," he nodded vigorously, "Everything but that, I will," he started towards the door on shaky legs, but paused, "I - I feel bad for how long this went on. I...I don't want to see you hurt. You saved my life once, you know. Almost got flattened to a pancake if not for you," he paused, as if considering something, "There were extra files and hard drives in the dresser, on the bottom hidden inside a pair of jeans. You should probably destroy those too."

Peter nodded, already striding back to the bedroom, "I will. Thank you."

He found the dresser and went to the bottom drawer. Sure enough, rolled up in a pair of pants, was an unmarked manilla envelope filled to the brim with extra pictures and hard-drives. He heard the man come into the room, peering over his shoulder.

"Yeah, those are them. Are they all there?"

"I think so," Peter mumbled, thumbing through them.

"There might've been some more in the nightstand, let me just," he rounded the bed and rummaged through the nightstand. He resurfaced with another envelope in hand. "Yeah, here it is."

"Thanks," Peter said, taking it from him and opening the flap, "Did she hide anymore? Any other stashes or flash drives - OW-" Peter spider-sense hummed just as he felt the prick, and he whirled around, clutching the spot on his shoulder where he'd been stung. The man backed up, legs braced as if ready to bolt, with both hands up. One of them was holding a syringe, now half empty.

"What are you doing?" Peter demanded, backing into the dresser.

The man wasn't trembling anymore. In fact, he looked strangely calm. He smiled at Peter -a warm smile - and adjusted his grip on the syringe. "Sorry about this. I really didn't want to hurt you, but that was a clever little trick you pulled. With the camera, I mean, and getting everyone out of the building. Always so full of surprises." He sounded fond.

Peter didn't need to hear anything else, he lunged forward. The man tried to dodge but Peter was faster and shoved him into the wall. "Who are you?" He snarled in his face, "What do you guys want from me?"

The look in the mans' eyes was earnest and warm, and he smiled again, gently wrapping a hand around Peter's wrist where it had him pinned. He didn't try to pry Peter off, just held it, gently rubbing his thumb over the skin as if to soothe him. "I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered, "Trust me, that's the last thing I want. I just want you to be happy."

Peter looked him up and down, but whatever that drug was, it was affecting him now, making his head swim. Gritting his teeth, he tried to shake it off, push through it, but it clung to him tighter, squeezing his brain and making him light-headed. His grip loosened a fraction. "What -" he shook his head hard, "What did you inject in me?"

"Nothing fatal," the man said quickly, "Just a little something to help you sleep."

Peter pushed him back into the wall, but his grip was slipping and his whole body felt flushed and woosy. The man pushed him off and Peter stumbled, nearly tripping over his own feet. He used the bed to support himself and tried to get back to his feet so he could kick this guy's ass, but it was a fast losing battle. He needed to get out of here.

He meant to jump for the door, but his legs were sluggish, and only managed a few shaky steps before he stumbled to his knees. A pair of gentle hands fell on his shoulders and rubbed the knots in his muscles before pushing the needle back into his skin, squeezing the last of the drug into his system. Peter jerked away, but it did little good. The world was spinning and he felt sick.

He crawled a few more feet before slumping, limbs going limp. The man rolled Peter onto his belly, putting him halfway under the bed. One of the pictures from the envelope had landed under the bed, and Peter stared at it. Him and Wade having dinner at Mike's faces flushed from laughter, and table stacked high with food. Peter's hand twitched and he latched onto the picture with two fingers.

Just then, the phone in his boot started buzzing, sending a tingle up Peter's leg. The man leaned down next to him and his fingers slipped inside the boot, pulling the phone out. He hummed.

"Oh, it's the boyfriend," he murmured, "Well, that won't do."

 _Wade_ , Peter's brain perked up. In a last-ditch effort to do something, he forced his arms to move, to do anything, but it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. It was all he could do but whisper Wade's name in the last wisps of his thoughts as unconsciousness crept up on him, turning the edges of his vision dark.

He was unconscious seconds later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that can't be good.


	9. Home Sweet Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! Here we gooooooo!

Peter woke up in his apartment.

No. "Woke up" sounded too much like something you'd see in a children's movie, where the princess yawns and stretches as she blearily blinks her eyes open while birds flitter in her room, singing their morning songs. Peter had no such grace or finesse. He jerked awake like someone had fastened a rope to his sternum and yanked it hard. Blankets went flying off him and one of the pillows hit the floor with a soft squish as he sat up in bed, wide-eyed and head pounding. His vision blurred and he swayed, pressing a hand to the side of his head.

 _What happened_? Was his first thought. _Where am I?_ Was his second.

He looked down at the slim blankets on the floor, and then the heavier blanket pooled around his thighs, and had to blink several times before his eyes focused. _Warm_ , he thought dumbly. _Very warm._ He hummed and slowly sank back into the bed. He liked warm. Warm was good and comfy, and he was too lethargic to care about anything else.

The pillows were so soft and he nuzzled his face into them with a content sigh. Then reality slipped into his brain like a worm and he froze. He wasn't supposed to have pillows, they were stolen. The rest didn't rush back to him all at once, he followed it like a child with rope, connecting to different memories one at a time, each one more harrowing than the last. Pillows were gone because he was robbed, Aunt May was robbed too, they had pictures of her and him and MJ, MJ was being watched, Peter had a plan because he was being stalked, he went to an apartment to confront the stalker, and then...what? His brain was so fuzzy it could've grown bits of mold. But everything else was very concerning and he lurched back up.

Except, lurch was a strong word. His moment of adrenaline was used up the first time he woke, and instead of jumping to his feet, he slowly sat up and then even more slowly moved his legs over the bed to stand up. The room spun and he had to brace himself on the edge of the bed so he didn't fall face first into the floor. His eyes were still hazy and unfocused, but he trailed them over the room, confusion growing by the second.

This was his apartment. That was his dresser in the corner, his camera perched on top; his desk was pushed up against the wall and his laptop was plugged in and charging on it. The floor was strewn with the discarded clothes he was too lazy to put in the hamper and the windows were drawn closed to keep the sunlight out.

Peter rubbed his face with numb fingers, hoping to spark life into his brain. His senses were dulled, but he could pick up a humming coming from outside the room. Quiet murmurings, like someone was talking.

That was wrong. No one was supposed to be in his apartment.

Thankfully, he wasn't too disoriented to climb the walls, but it was a close thing when he almost unstuck himself when easing the door open. He followed the sounds through the apartment, to the kitchen, keeping his movements quiet as he crawled along the ceiling. But his suspicion ebbed and his heart lifted when he recognized the voice.

A large figure was standing in the kitchen, their broad shoulders covered with a t-shirt slightly too small because it happened to be Peter's. Scars painted his skin in abundance and his bald head bobbed and jerked to the tune he was humming to himself. Wade was standing in the kitchen, frilly pink apron on, radio playing as he ladled another scoop of pancake mix into a pan where it sizzled. Next to him was a steaming batch of pancakes. Peter's stomach gurgled loudly at the smell.

He tried to unstick quietly, but his feet hit the floor with a too-loud thud and he almost toppled over. His head was still swimming and his thoughts were as scattered as someone trying to keep a bunch of kittens in a straight line.

"Wade," Peter croaked as the man turned around, and his heart fluttered at that familiar grin as Wade's blue eyes met his. Fuck, he missed that twinkle in his eye. His stupid shit-eating grin.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," his voice rumbled, "It's about time you woke up. Thought for a second you were comatose, and there go my plans of kissing the prince awake. I never get to have any fun."

"That's not very consensual," Peter murmured as he looked around the room. "What happened?"

Wade quirked an eyebrow as he untied his apron and tossed it over the counter, grabbing the platter of pancakes as he did, "You mean other than you falling and hitting your head like a goof? Nothing much. Hey, how sturdy did you say your webs were again? Because I remember someone bragging about how they can hold up to 1500 pounds of weight," Wade snorted, "Couldn't even hold your scrawny ass."

Peter looked at him, puzzled, "What? I didn't...no, I mean...what happened to the man? And the woman? The one's stalking me."

Wade gave him a weird look as he set the pancakes on the table and beckoned for Peter to sit, "According to Tony, he was watching you for your 'own safety,' but I agree that it's a bullshit excuse. Just because Tony wants to micromanage his little boyband, doesn't mean he can start butting in our life. I'll let him know you said to fuck off. And what's this about a woman? Don't tell me I have competition now, I've only been gone a few months."

"No. No, there was a man and a woman, and he wasn't... _Tony_. They've been watching me for months," Peter pressed his hands over his forehead, trying to remember all the details, "They've been following me. Taking pictures. Leaving stuff for me at work. I swear it," his eyes drifted to the door and he perked up, heading toward it, "They have a whole room filled with pictures," he said, beckoning Wade to follow him, "Come on, I'll show you. They've been living in the apartment down the hall."

Peter didn't even make it a few feet before Wade was grabbing him by the shoulders and turning him around. His expression was less amused and more concerned now. "Whoa there Petey, my sunshine, the crisp apple of my eye. What are you talking about? Did you hit your head harder than we thought," he checked the back of Peter's head and Peter winced from the touch. He replaced Wade's fingers with his own and gingerly touched around the bump that was there. He hit his head? How hadn't he remembered that? It explained his piercing headache though.

"No, I...there was a woman...I swear it."

Wade took Peter's hands in his and pulled him back to the table, "We'll head over to Iron-Butt's after breakfast. He said you might have a concussion, but I didn't think it'd knock any screws loose. Can't have you taking my place as the cooky one in the relationship," he sat Peter on a chair and placed the entire stack of pancakes in front of him. "Eat up, spidey-baby. Get em' while they're hot," he winked.

Peter looked down at the plate and slowly picked up the fork. This wasn't right, was it? There had been two people. He was followed. He didn't imagine it, he _couldn't_ have.

Wade was back in the kitchen, flipping the other pancake and ladling more in its place. Peter watched him for a minute before slowly cutting off a piece of his pancake and chewing it, not even giving the taste any mind.

"When did you get back from your job? I thought it was going to be another few weeks, at least."

Wade looked over his shoulder as he started scavenging through the cupboards, "Finished early. The infiltration was the hardest part, but knocking the head honcho off his ass? Easy peasy. In and out. Could've done it in my sleep. Arrived back in town just after you conked your noggin."

"You keep saying that. What happened?"

"Nothing really," Wade shrugged, "You were out patrolling, webline snapped, fell into the street. Traffic stopped, for once in its life, so you weren't run over. But got a nice shiny bump on the back of your head. Hit yourself pretty hard, so I hear."

Peter frowned at his plate, "But..my webs don't just snap out of nowhere. Not unless something cuts them."

Wade shrugged, coming up behind him and softly rubbing his shoulders, "Don't know, Petey. Maybe this batch wasn't as strong as you thought."

Not as strong as he thought? Peter doubted it. He was always careful when it came to his webs. They were one of the most important tools in his arsenal. He couldn't be swinging around, thousands of feet in the air, with faulty webbing. If he'd run out of web-fluid, that would be another thing. That's happened plenty of times and will probably keep happening until he can figure out a solution for canisters that can hold more.

"No it couldn't have been my webbing," Peter said, insistently.

Wade hummed and kissed the top of his head, "Whatever you say, honey-butt."

His tone was playful and humoring, which Peter didn't appreciate, but he kept rubbing his shoulders and that felt amazing. Peter relaxed into those skilled hands and hissed as Wade's fingers massaged a particularly rough knot in his shoulder.

He took another bite of the pancakes, actually focusing on the taste this time, and made a face, "Did you use pancake mix? I thought you hated using the boxed brands."

Wade hummed, "Didn't have time to get the stuff for homemade batter, sweetums. Too busy taking care of you."

Peter made another face, twisting to look up at him,"You told me you'd cut off your own leg and eat it before buying pancake mix. You even made me promise to never buy it," he squinted up at Wade, who rolled his eyes as if Peter were being silly, and maybe that was the first sign that something was wrong. This was his apartment, this was his boyfriend, but it was off-kilter. Something didn't feel right.

Peter got up, shrugging Wade's hands off his shoulder, "I think I need some air."

"You're supposed to be under house arrest, Petey. Apartment only."

"What? I can't step outside? I'm just going to stand outside the firescape." Despite the pounding in his head and the way he felt like he was moving in molasses, he was in the room before Wade had the chance to protest and flung the curtains open. The window was frosted over from the early morning and clouds littered the sky above. It was going to snow. Peter hooked his fingers under the window to pull it up, but the billboard across from him flashed bright white and he squinted. Damn toothpaste commercials.

His stomach dropped.

He didn't have a billboard outside his room.

In that moment, Wade grabbed him from behind, pinning Peter to his chest and pushed a cloth over his nose. It was damp and smelled of chemicals. Chloroform. Peter flailed, elbowing Wade in the gut with years of practice and Wade doubled over, letting him go. Peter stumbled away, reaching for the window, his closest escape, but Wade caught him by the ankle and yanked him back. He hit the ground hard and Wade was on top of him again, pinning his arms to his sides and shoving the cloth over his mouth and nose.

But Peter was still stronger and bucked him off.

He rolled to his knees, but couldn't make it to his feet. He lolled to the side. He already breathed in too much.

"Who are you," he demanded, leaning against the dresser. He was wrong, this wasn't his dresser. It looked like the one in his room, but while the likeness was the same at first glance, the one in his _actual_ room had belonged to him for nearly 2 years. This one was brand new. This wasn't his apartment, just a very good copy.

Wade got back to his feet. Any likeness toward the man he knew was suddenly gone. He didn't have Wade's humor when he smiled. It didn't even have the same softness as he held out his hands to soothe him. "Calm down," the not-Wade said with the gravelly voice that didn't belong to him.

"Don't tell me to calm down," Peter spat. His legs wobbled and his brain was scattering."W-who the hell are you? What..." he was feeling woozy, "What did you do with Wade? Where am I?"

"You're safe," Not-Wade assured him, "You're somewhere where you can be happy. I promise. I don't want to hurt you."

"Yeah, that sounds familiar," He needed to leave. Fuck this guy, he'd _kissed_ Peter on the head.

Peter bolted for the door, fast despite his dizziness, and managed to make it out of the room when he was tackled from behind. Not-Wade was being very rough for someone who didn't want to hurt him, and Peter didn't have any problems with twisting around to throw a punch. It landed on Not-Wade's jaw, but it wasn't nearly as strong as he was going for. Not-Wade grunted and returned with a punch of his own. It was a lot more solid given his undrugged state of mind, but Peter's taken worse hits. He tried worming his way out from under Not-Wade, but with his back to the copycat, the other man pressed his weight down on him and put the cloth over his face for a third time.

This time he curled himself around Peter, curling his legs around Peter's torso and twisting his arms around Peter's neck and head so he couldn't shake the cloth off. Peter tried holding his breath, but he couldn't hold out for long. Through their struggling, the scars on Wade's forearms flickered on and off, revealing smooth skin underneath. Not-Wade was wearing an image inducer.

Peter tried to fight as long as he could, but it didn't take long before his struggling lightened and he was slumping. Not-Wade waited until he wasn't moving before unwinding himself and getting off. Now free, Peter tried to move but all he could do was turn his head enough to look at the imposter. His image was flickering more sporadic now, fluttering like static on a tv screen.

"Must have knocked my gear loose," the fake chuckled, and his voice fluctuated between the unique gravel of Wade's voice, and a much smoother one. One that Peter recognized.

The image sputtered off altogether and a white mask looked down at him, the eyes behind it amused. "Don't worry, I'll get it up and running again."

Peter's eyes widened, just a fraction. He was already gone, the drug too strong to fight off, and he only managed to whisper one thing before he was unconscious again.

"Chameleon?"

* * *

Meanwhile, several miles away, a man stepped out of the airport and onto the sidewalk, wrapped in a large hoodie, a scarf, and a baseball hat, despite the cloudy weather. He inhaled a deep breath of cold winter air, and let it out in a condensed puff that was snatched in the wind. Dark grey clouds were gathering. New York was in for one hell of a snowstorm, if the weather reports were correct.

He grabbed his suitcase and lugged it after him as he waited for his taxi. Normally, he might've arrived with a little more fanfare, wearing the red suit he often donned, and pissing off the general populace with his sheer presence, but this was a special occasion. He's been gone for a while and he had a Spider-Babe at home that he missed and wanted to surprise.

He checked his phone. The taxi would be here soon according to the message left on the home screen. Instead of closing it, he brought up his contact list and pressed the phone to his ear.

"Heeeeey Petey-Pie, just calling to check in again. I'm not home yet, I'm just about to get on my flight. I want to hear all about your little stalker. Got most of your messages, but the wifi has been iffy, so I haven't gone through them all yet. I'll pick up some Thai on the way home and you can tell me alllllll about it. I know you're probably at work and I'm not supposed to bug you, yada yada yada, all the boring stuff, but call me when you can, kay. Bye, and hey," he smirked into the server, "I love you too."

He put the phone away.

Past the humor and wry-grins, he would admit he was a little worried. Peter sounded concerned in some of his voicemails and lonely in most of them. Wade supposed he couldn't blame him. He's been gone for a month longer than either of them expected, and the job itself had sent him on a wild goosechase. Peter has always been so wonderfully paranoid of everything and Wade loved him for it.

There hadn't been any talk on the news about Spider-Man battling some new villain, and as far as Wade knew there was no new gossip about NYC other than the usual. Everything was peaceful so the problem probably got sorted out.

The screeching of tires, honking of horns, and terrified screams of bystanders drew Wade's attention to the street, where his ride was pulling up. Dopindor was laying it heavy on the horn and waving his hand out the window for his attention, shouting "Mr. Pool! Mr. Pool! Over here!"

Wade grinned, hauling his luggage back up. He couldn't wait to see his Peter again.

"It's good to be home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahah so as you guys can probably guess, there is going to be a sequel to this book. This story was my NaNoWriMo project and I did reach the 50,000 word goal, but I didn't get the entire story finished in time. So I split the story in half. 25,000 words for this book and 25,000+ for the next. I already have more than half of the second book written. If I had finished the entire thing before December, I would mass post the entire thing, but I didn't, so you get half.
> 
> So, yes, our mystery stalker is actually Chameleon. I know some of you guys guessed, and I couldn't be happier! This fic was inspired by two different Chameleon comics, 1) the older comic where Chameleon admitted that he loved Peter after spending some time in his shoes, and 2) the Spider-Man/Deadpool comic where Chameleon was openly following and attacking Spider-Man for days, but kept disappearing into crowds and posing as innocent people to make him paranoid and on edge. Peter couldn't go home because Chameleon might follow him, and he couldn't even sleep for very long because Chameleon kept finding him on rooftops, so he was extremely paranoid, very stressed, and very tired by the time Wade showed up. Wade helped him get rid of Chameleon in the end and it was great. The comic is one of my favorite Spider-Man/Deadpool comics of all time.
> 
> So basically, I read these two comic stories and decided to merge them into one. And BOOM, "Invisible Man" was born.
> 
> Thank you all so much for the support and comment and kudo's throughout the book! Seriously, I love you all so much! I'm glad you guys enjoyed it and I hope to see you there when I start posting book 2.
> 
> If you enjoyed this Spideypool story, feel free to check out my other Spideypool stories!
> 
> See you all next year and I hope you have a very good holiday season!

**Author's Note:**

> Behold! My NaNoWriMo project. I'll be spending this month updating this story every few days. It's something that's been cooking up in my brain for a while now and I'm excited to finally share it!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!


End file.
